


I Want You (The Right Way)

by Not Applicable (not_applicable)



Series: é preciso perdoar [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: (but with sex), Angst, Anonymous Sex, Cheating, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Forgiveness, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, Iron Man 3 Spoilers, Ketamine, M/M, Original Character(s), PTSD, Possessive Steve, Protective Steve, Recreational Drug Use, Rhodey Is a Good Bro, Rimming, Rough Sex, Science Bros, Self Harm, Team Feels, Tony Whump, self hate, what we've got here is a failure to communicate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-14 23:58:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_applicable/pseuds/Not%20Applicable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Talk about starting things out on the wrong foot.  A story where no one does the right thing.  (In Brazil, they say <i>é preciso perdoar</i>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> OH GOD. I got the idea for this story from the shitstorm that is my own life, as well as from another story that showed a breakup going entirely too well for my own taste. I'd love to link it or do an 'inspired by' but it didn't really inspire me _that_ much, mostly just disgusted me and triggered a lot of awful memories. Also the person who wrote it has pretty much left the fandom and I don't think they give a shit. 
> 
> This is the story of the scorned sticking to their guns and saying, "Fuck the high road." 
> 
> The title is taken from "[I Want You](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NtGNS1Hh0JM)," which is the best song Marvin Gaye ever recorded.
> 
> Also, this is an emotional whump. Like **for real**. I pull no punches. You have been warned. This is my first whump, as well as the first time I've written fic with so much of myself in it. Leave a comment/review. 
> 
> POV changes throughout the story, and this will be denoted by horizontal lines.
> 
> Beta'd by Anna Fugazzi. ♥

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Like a band-aid," Tony thought to himself._

Tony was done showering, but he didn't turn off the water. He leaned forward and pressed his face against the hot tile – a faraway chuckle startled him and he glanced up for a moment, but then he remembered. Steve was in his bed, still naked and watching television. Tony rolled his neck and heard it pop, then used his hands to bend his head from one side and to the other. Steve could really roughhouse when he wanted to – he could throw Tony all around, bend him into impossible shapes and drive his cock deeper than Tony thought possible.

He'd taught Steve a lot in a month – their first time had been the day after Thor left with Loki, and it was also Steve's first time, and Steve didn't have to tell Tony that because it had been obvious. Every slide of Steve's cock into Tony made the kid wail, practically _sing_ with the sensation of something new. The uneven rhythm of Steve's stroke, the way he looked down so much, asked if it was “any good” – and Tony just smiled and said _yes, yes, yes,_ anchored his heels against Steve's ass and showed him how to have sex, whispered how to balance himself on his knees and elbows and reclaim the missionary position for the awesome thing that it really was.

And that was supposed to be it. He was supposed to wait until Steve passed out before disappearing from the bed, but it turned out that Steve didn't need much sleep, and so they stayed up talking and watching old movies and having sex again and again, and soon Steve was curling into Tony's body and kissing his neck like it was familiar, like he'd done it a million times. Tony thought of Pepper that night while he slept wrapped around Steve in their bed.

The next time was the following afternoon, in Steve's room. He'd gone to tell Steve about Pepper and let him know that last night was it, wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am, but when he got there Steve was napping – or pretending to, it turned out, because he stirred rather quickly and sat up, scooting over to where Tony stood. “I want to try something,” he said, and a few seconds later Tony was guiding Steve through his first blowjob. He came after only a few minutes and then Steve fucked him again, and...Steve kissed him.

Tony had avoided it the night before, always keeping his mouth just a centimeter or two out of Steve's reach, but right then, with Steve leaned against the headboard and Tony in his lap, he fell forward, grabbing Steve's shoulders and moving harder. Steve's hands were soothing along his skin, traveling lightly up and down his back and petting away the concern in the back of his head. He could feel Steve's breath against his lips and he opened his eyes, looking into soft blue ones that were worried, anxious like the first time. Tony reached out and caressed Steve's hair, letting his hand come to rest at the back of his head, and suddenly Steve leaned forward and pressed their lips together hard, and Tony resisted until Steve's mouth opened slowly, carefully. The tongue in Tony's mouth was skilled but shy in the way it lapped at him carefully, and the little moan it elicited from him seemed to make Steve bolder. Steve deepened the kiss, mouth open and tongue sliding hungrily along the inside of Tony's mouth. Tony sucked Steve's lips, suddenly overwhelmed by the texture and the taste of him. Tony had stopped moving and was just kissing Steve now, his hand on his cheek, and Jesus Christ, he knew he'd been right for avoiding that last night.

“ _Fuck_ , you're good at that,” Tony whispered, and Steve smiled against his lips.

He fell asleep in Steve's room that night, way too easily. Tony lay on his back and Steve was draped over him, heavy and solid against his body. Steve smelled so fucking good and his skin was peachy and clean, and sometimes he looked at Tony like he was flawless, perfect. And he was an amazing kisser, and he made love to Tony like it was second nature after only 48 hours.

( _I am in real trouble here._ )

The next day Tony flew to Malibu and spent a week with Pepper and Rhodey, catching up with his friend and reminding himself of the curves of his girlfriend's body. He'd terrified her by flying into that wormhole with a nuke in his hands and he knew she'd wanna read him the Riot Act – and she did, with a red face and matching hair that flew everywhere as she flailed and screamed at him, and then she fell into his arms, caressing his face and kissing him as if she couldn't believe he was really there. With his face buried in Pepper's hair, Tony made a silent promise to go home and never fuck Steve again.

 

There had been many trips like that since then, 48-hour stay-cations in Malibu that were supposed to end with him coming home and dumping Steve, but it never happened. He was going through the same thing right now in his bathroom: Tony had gotten back to New York earlier that day determined to give Steve full disclosure of his actual relationship status, but as soon as he saw Steve he lost his nerve. They had a quick lunch and then retreated to his bedroom, where Tony was now washing a four-hour sex marathon down the drain. He turned off the water and heard the tv click off as well, and he groaned. ( _Fuck, fuck, fuck_.) He stepped out of the shower and began to towel himself off, all while staring at the hand soap and lotion that sat by the sink. L'Occitane. Lemon verbena. It was Pepper's, and sometimes Steve smelled like that when Tony would suck his fingers or turn to kiss his palm.

Tony got dressed in pajama pants and walked back into the bedroom, where Steve had sunk down into the mattress and was reading something on a tablet. It was all too similar. It was entirely too easy for Tony to move from one routine to the other. It was fucking seamless, and that made it all the more difficult.

Tony was positive that Steve didn't know about Pepper. He wasn't going to tell him, either.

 

*

 

Whenever Tony asked himself how he got in this mess, a certain night came to mind:

The third night Steve slept in Tony's bed, ten days into their affair, Tony had a nightmare. He was suffocating in the vacuum of space, the gravity of a wormhole sucking him backwards at subatomic speeds. He sat bolt upright and swung his legs off of the bed, taking deep breaths. He felt a hand on his shoulder and he immediately stood and walked towards the bathroom, wiping at the tears streaming down his face and taking huge, _huge_ deep breaths of air.

He woke up on the floor of the bathroom with Steve kneeling over him and pressing a wet towel to his face. The back of his head hurt something awful and everything from the countertop was scattered across the floor.

“You hyperventilated,” Steve said, his eyes wide and his forehead wrinkled. “Passed out. Sorry about the door.” Tony looked over Steve's shoulder to see the doorjamb hanging off of the wall and the doorknob in pieces. He felt the cool rag traveling from his temple to his chin, then back up again. “I'll pay for it.”

 

*

 

He often thought of another night, too:

“I want you to fuck me.”

Tony wasn't so sure about that. That had the potential to change _everything_ for him. He actually sat up then, leaving one hand on Steve's cock and using the other to reach out and pick up his McCallan off of the bedside table. He looked down at Steve (who was staring at his drink) laid out before him, legs spread and Tony between them, his dick hard and standing straight and making Tony's hand look tiny around it, a hot red blush radiating up from his crotch and all the way to his cheeks. Maybe Tony was drunk, but he thought Steve's skin looked smooth as icing, like he was made of sugar and cream and vanilla beans – but it wasn't a stretch. In Tony's tipsy mind, that was exactly what Steve tasted like anyway.

“You _really_ wanna think about that one, champ,” Tony said, and he knocked back the rest of his drink and completely missed Steve's response. He didn't want to hear it. He was worried about what it would do to him, to hear Steve insist that Tony be the first person inside of him. Besides, he already knew that he wasn't capable of saying no to someone so...Steve.

Tony should have listened to his instincts, because it _did_ change everything. Well, not really – the change he feared had always been there, quiet and waiting patiently for its moment in the sun, and Tony was right to suspect that Steve's frightful gasp at the touch of his cock against his entrance would bring it all rushing to the surface. _I never had a chance,_ Tony thought to himself, but that's not what he said to Steve.

“I got you,” Tony whispered instead, and he pushed forward just slightly, _so_ slightly, because Steve was trembling beneath him, his eyes glued to where their bodies were finally joined. Their eyes met and the look on Steve's face made Tony feel weak in the wrong way, a way he didn't want right then. Weak enough to lay down on Steve and press their foreheads together, weak enough to kiss him tenderly and caress his worried face.

 _I will not hurt you,_ Tony wanted to say, but he knew that was bullshit. He was already hurting Steve by fucking him for a month without telling him about Pepper. So instead he said, “I got you,” and he slid forward again, and Steve let out a deep breath, his muscles relaxing and allowing Tony's hips to finally meet his ass. Tony saw Steve's flushed face glistening with sweat beneath him and the slightly pinched expression it held, and he leaned down and pressed another soft kiss onto his lips.

“It gets better, I promise,” Tony breathed there, nuzzling him softly, and he drew back and moved forward again, slowly, smiling as Steve's expression began to melt into something else entirely.

Tony made good on that promise. Twice in one night, too.

He fell asleep way too easily in Steve's arms that night. He could feel Steve's touch all the way to his bones. The hand in his hair smelled like lemons.

 

*

 

It was getting too comfortable. Too seamless.

 

Steve making him breakfast. Steve ordering dinner. Steve refusing to watch _House_ reruns with him, opting instead for _Seinfeld_ or _Martin_. Steve's clothes lying on Tony's bedroom floor. Tony's bed smelling like Steve's sweat. Steve massaging his feet and asking when he'd be getting back from Malibu next week. Tony not answering, just deciding to dig his free foot into Steve's lap, toes wiggling.

Steve saying, “I got you,” breathing it into Tony's neck, his hands pinning Tony's above his head while riding his cock. Tony beneath him and biting his lip so that he wouldn't cry the realest, truest tears of his entire adult life.

Steve saying, “I'll miss you,” to him on the helipad, and both of them forgetting that Happy was standing there when they kissed.

Tony felt crazy. Like his hold on all of this was slipping.

 

The chopper ride to the airport was quiet until they landed on the runway. Happy unbuckled his seat belt and stood, but he didn't reach for Tony's bags just yet.

“Boss,” Happy started, and Tony just raised his hand.

“I got this,” Tony said. “I promise. I'm on top of it.”

“You know Pep's gonna -”

“ _Don't_.” Tony realized his tone was probably kinda harsh so he took a breath and counted to five. “I told you, I got this. I already have a plan.” Happy just snorted and leaned down to pick up their bags.

 

Tony absolutely, positively, had no idea what to do about this.

 

*

 

Malibu was fun. Pepper was beautiful and pliable as ever, in every sense of the word. She never stressed when he canceled on her or got up-in-arms about quickies in her private bathroom at work. He held on to her tight and kissed her so much that she actually commented on it. He didn't sleep while holding her, but that was nothing new.

He got texts from the gang in New York. Pictures of Bruce eating pizza with Rhodey ( _what's he doing in New York?_ ) or Natasha climbing the statues in Central Park. A video of Clint shooting four arrows at once off of his bow – a personal best for him. A photo by Clint of Steve, Natasha, and Bruce strolling down the boardwalk on Coney Island, Steve in mid-sentence and digging into a shaved ice, his smile unguarded and his eyes bright. Tony knew that Steve hadn't been back to Coney Island since he was young. Was this his first visit since waking up? Tony wanted to ask, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Later that night while Pepper was in the shower, he got a text from Steve. _Come home_. That's all it said. Tony covered his face for a moment, but then he sent back, _three days_. Steve sent a picture message then, a picture that Tony swiftly moved to a hidden folder on his StarkTech phone. Tony hit reply but then exited the messaging center when he heard the toilet flush, and shortly after that Pepper emerged from the bathroom.

 

*

 

Four days later, Tony was on his knees on the floor of his bedroom, leaning on the bed with his pants hanging off of one leg and Steve's hand in his hair, pulling him back into a hot, hard kiss. Steve's hips moved expertly now, fucking into Tony with quick strokes that still allowed him to feel every inch of Steve's skin, every bump and ridge and vein embossed on his cock. Tony couldn't believe it sometimes, couldn't believe how quickly this kid had become the perfect lover ( _an amazing fuck, you mean_ ) but Steve Rogers, juiced up or not, had always been a fast learner. Steve's hips moved like pistons at him, as steady and unrelenting as the mouth at the back of his neck, sucking his skin and whispering things that Steve knew Tony liked to hear.

The mouth was gone and Tony felt Steve's arms around his waist, lifting him up onto the bed. “Hop up for me,” Steve said softly, almost like an afterthought ( _always so polite_ ) and he laid Tony back on the bed before immediately kneeling between his legs. Steve pushed down his sweatpants a bit farther while using his other hand to spread Tony's legs, and he wasted no time, leaning forward and sheathing his cock in Tony's body in one smooth stroke.

Tony kind of hated the fact that they were facing each other now because he could see Steve's remarkably masculine and not-Pepper-like face. He wanted to look away but he couldn't, not with Steve moaning like that, his eyes shut and his hair stringy and falling into his face with every thrust. ( _Christ, he's fucking gorgeous_.) Tony thought he should probably at least _try_ not to come but he knew that was also a tall order with Steve rutting into him to hell and back, sitting back now on his heels and kissing Tony's leg while he fucked him. Steve's touch was warm as he trailed his fingers down Tony's thigh and to his hip, gripping him there and thrusting deep into him.

“What are you doing to me?” Tony asked in a haze, his voice rumbling with the force of their sex. “You make me feel crazy.”

Steve just chuckled a bit and leaned down again, planting a hand on each side of Tony as he continued pistoning into him. “I just want you to feel good, that's all I'm doing,” Steve said, his own eyes barely open. He laid his head on Tony's shoulder then, still fucking him, and he kissed the sweat-slick skin there. “I want to make you happy, wanna make you feel good, Tony...I just want you to be... _god_ , I just want you.” Steve began mumbling those last four words over and over again, right into Tony's skin, and Tony gave in. Who _couldn't_ come at such a sight, at such a beautiful thing?

 

That night, Tony went out onto the disassembly strip and smoked his first cigarette in twenty years. He had to end this.

 

*

 

Tony took a deep breath, a _huge_ breath, and sat bolt upright in the bed. He swung his legs off of the bed and put his hands on his knees, breathing, just breathing, touching his chest ( _arc_ _reactor blocks your pulse, dumbass_ ), and just breathing. He felt a hand slide around his side and to his stomach and he laid his own hand on top of it. “Count,” he heard, and he started to count in his mind, and then he heard it behind him, whispered in his ear. He felt Steve's legs part and fall on each side of him, pressing his front flush against Tony's back.

“One...” And they both let out a long breath, then Steve slowly inhaled again. Tony followed, felt Steve's chest expand against his back, felt heavy hands over his ribcage now. “Two...” Steve's hands pushed gently, guiding Tony's breathing, and they held firmly when he tried to breath too deeply again, making him go slower, making him regulate it so that he wouldn't hyperventilate. “Three...” On his neck, whispered so softly.

 

*

 

Tony was impressed with himself. It had taken him about four scotches, but at least he'd actually managed to sit Steve down and get the conversation started. Something about how much fun this had been, how often Tony traveled, how he flaked on Steve sometimes and how busy they both were. Something about team dynamics, too, but Steve waved that one off so quickly that Tony knew he wouldn't be able to use it. So now they were just looking across the table at each other, Tony drinking scotch and Steve holding his sketchbook shut as if it were alive, ready to snap open and bite them.

“I don't understand,” Steve said. “I mean you say you're happy, so why do you wanna...” Steve looked away, shaking his head. “If I it was something I did, or said -”

“It's nothing like that at all,” Tony said. “I mean I _really_ enjoyed what we had going on, it was fucking marvelous, really. I just...don't think this is gonna work in the long run. I don't feel it, it's not there.”

“That's a fucking lie,” Steve said, and Tony blinked at his use of an obscenity. “I mean no one knows how things are gonna work out in the future, but...you felt nothing? At all?” Steve sighed and looked down at his sketchbook, redness crawling into his features. “I haven't slept in my own bed in a month, Tony. I mean – I sleep in your bed when you're not even here. You know how that looks, right?”

“I know, and I never should have let it get that far,” Tony said. “Hey, you're young – okay, you're ninety, but you look 25 at most. You're hot, tall, blond, big-dicked, and you just woke up from a seventy-year deep freeze. The buck doesn't stop _here_ , you know? You should be out at the clubs with other young people, having fun and getting laid. There's so much more for you out there -”

“I want _you_ , Tony,” Steve said, his tone resolute. “I don't care what else is out there.” He was still staring at the cover of his sketchbook, his jaw tight.

“Steve, it was a fling -”

Steve's head shot up. “No, it wasn't.”

“ _Steve_.”

Steve picked up his sketchbook and stood quickly, heading for the door. Tony got up and followed, reaching out his hand and just barely brushing Steve's arm before the soldier turned to face him, shoulders tight and back straight – angry posture, but his face. His fucking _face_. Steve stood quietly as if he expected Tony to talk, but Tony couldn't find his voice.

“I was never deluded about what this was,” Steve said finally. “I never called you my boyfriend or anything, but...I thought you cared more than _this_.”

That statement, combined with Steve's face and a bellyful of McCallan, made Tony want to scream. But he didn't. Couldn't and wouldn't, goddamnit. Steve's sincerity and his naked _hurt_ were conjuring up Tony's defenses against the idea (truth) that he had gone into this knowing Steve would get the short end of the stick. He didn't like the idea that he was the cause of the weight on Steve's shoulders, the way they sunk down in an uncharacteristically pathetic manner. Or the awful, _awful_ look of betrayal and shock on his face.

“Hey, I care,” Tony said perhaps a bit too strongly, “I care enough to let you know now that we gotta end this before you get in too deep.”

“And why would that be a bad thing?” Steve asked, and his tone broke enough that Tony had to look away, over to his bar. “You really didn't care.”

“Steve, you're _killin'_ me here,” Tony said. He looked at Steve then because he figured that he could sell this next statement best with some strong eye contact. “I'm just not...it was fun while it lasted but it's over, okay? We gotta end it, and it's early enough that we can do that with minimal damage to all parties involved, so I really do think it's best if we just...don't make this harder than it has to be.”

Steve's expression went from pained to disgusted in a flash, his eyes traveling up and down Tony with a contempt that war protestors usually reserved for him. Tony felt his insides wither but he held Steve's gaze, kept his back straight and his empty glass firm in his hands. He had just told a lie to Steve, innocent sweet darling Steve who deserved none of what he was getting at that moment, but Tony would rather that it all happened this way. He'd rather Steve think he was the same asshole he'd always been, rather than a reformed asshole who still couldn't get it right.

“Well, I'm glad we got that out of the way before anyone got hurt,” Steve said, and his expression was icy. “I suppose I should thank you.”

“You're welcome,” Tony responded, and his smile didn't touch his eyes. Steve turned and left.

 

*

 

 _Like a band-aid_ , Tony thought to himself.

He finished his beer then dropped the empty bottle into the tub, watching it bob around until it tipped over, filling with bathwater and slowly sinking. He didn't know where Steve was. He hadn't seen him in six hours, since he'd...done what he had to do. After that, Tony had gone to his workshop for a few hours to tinker with a few modifications to his armor, and he worked so long that Bruce actually had to call him to come down for dinner. He didn't, and Bruce ended up bringing him a heaping plate of chicken and waffles.

“Why don't you join us downstairs?” Bruce asked. “It's just me and Clint – Natasha's out of town.”

Tony thought of asking about Steve, but he didn't. He went down and ate with the guys, and Steve never joined.

Back in the bathtub, Tony had JARVIS turn on _His Girl Friday_. Stupid idea to watch an old movie, but he loved this one. He picked up a bottle of bourbon from the floor and cracked the seal.

 

This was the first night Tony had slept alone in a month. He fucking hated it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _What a waste._

Five minutes, and then Steve was leaving.

He'd managed to avoid Tony for about two weeks since they broke it off, which he thought would be a feat at first, but it really wasn't when everyone had an entire floor of the tower to themselves. Steve even had his own gym, which meant he didn't even run the risk of running into Tony there. He always asked JARVIS where Tony was if he was going to venture off of his floor, and JARVIS almost seemed to understand that they shouldn't be in close proximity. The AI once warned him that Tony was on his way to the communal kitchen in just enough time for Steve to clear out. It was the only time Steve ever thanked a computer out loud.

Steve supposed he should be focusing on saving face and appearing unscathed, but the hurt was too deep for him to even pretend. He was angry and hurt in a way he'd never known before, but he knew that he shouldn't have expected anything less out of Tony Stark. He knew he'd been naive to fall into bed with a guy like that, to give it up so quickly and then expect to be loved after the fact. And _okay_ , so Steve had lied when he told Tony he wasn't deluded – _of course_ he'd been, whether Tony meant for that to happen or not. Steve had tried really hard in the beginning to be casual and lighthearted about the whole thing, but their trysts got longer and longer, going from one hour to two then three then sleepovers, and soon Steve wasn't even sleeping in his bed at all. Soon he was seeking Tony out instead of just jerking off when he felt horny. He'd even kissed Tony in front of his fucking bodyguard. It should have never gone that far, Tony was right about that, but it _had_ , it _did_ , and here they were. Living in the same building and not seeing each other for fourteen days, until tonight.

 _Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?_ His mother would say that quite often to the young girls in his neighborhood, when they'd come over for pie and milk and his mother's ear. They'd sob at the table and tell her all about the heartbreaker of the week, and that was always his mother's response. Why had he expected Tony to honor him in any way when he hadn't taken the time to show Tony that he was worth it?

Steve hated wearing mess dress but he only had to have it on for another five minutes. He was making the rounds of their private ballroom and shaking the hands of the people on the list Agent Hill had given him, and a photographer followed him around to take appropriately staged photos. He shook and smiled and the camera clicked, and he looked down at his list, choosing to skip Lt. Col. Rhode's name yet again. Because Rhodey was still sitting at the bar and talking to Tony, who hadn't even fucking looked in Steve's direction all night. Bruce was standing there, too, on the other side of Rhodey, just holding a drink and...standing there.

 _Damn, there are a lot of curse words in my inner monologue,_ Steve thought as the camera flashed again, but he felt he was justified for that. He knew that he was so hurt because he wasn't experienced enough to know not to open himself up like that. Especially to a jerk like Stark. But hadn't Stark known that? Steve hadn't told him this, but he had been a virgin when he and Tony started in on each other. Steve knew that such an expectation was unfair, but everyone knew that about Steve. Only an asshole would take advantage of that.

Fuck, the list was getting shorter. Smile, shake, click. Maybe Tony _did_ know but he just hadn't cared. Maybe he _was_ an asshole. That wasn't so hard to believe – Tony Stark doing something self-serving and with total disregard to the well-being of others. He knew Tony was reckless with his cars and his armor and his own life, but he hadn't taken Tony as the type to throw a friend under the bus. Then again, how well could he have expected to know Tony after only a week of working together and a month of hot sex? Were they really even friends?

It all just made him feel so young. So stupid.

Shit. One name left, and it was Rhodey's. Steve steeled himself and made his way over, trying his best not to hang his head or scowl or blush. Tony saw him immediately – and how could he not, with Steve's blond head rising inches above those of the people around him – and he whispered something to Rhodey before quickly walking away, gesturing and smiling to passersby all the while. Rhodey knew why Steve had approached him and he pulled a hesitant Bruce into the photo as they all assumed the appropriate posture – smile, shake, click, and the photographer was done for the night. Steve then turned to Rhodey, who looked sharp in his mess dress as well. Steve opened his mouth to speak and then he saw a sight that took all of the breath out of him, made his head feel heavy and his chest tighten.

Tony was standing at the bar across the room with a beautiful, thin redhead, both arms wrapped around her waist and speaking directly into her mouth between kisses.

“Captain Rogers,” Rhodey said, “enjoying yourself?”

“No,” Steve responded, and he ignored Rhodey's chuckle. “I'm exhausted, actually. Heading to bed now.” He reached out and shook Rhodey's hand again. “Goodnight, Colonel.” He looked past Rhodey to Bruce, who looked uncomfortable as usual. “Dr. Banner.” Steve watched Rhodey's eyes flick across the room, seeking out whatever had grabbed Steve's attention, but in the end Rhodey just returned Steve's farewell and let him leave before turning to Bruce, who was finally smiling.

 

Steve took the elevator back to his apartment. He recognized that lady. Virginia Potts, but everyone called her Pepper. She was on the cover of a magazine he'd seen at the grocery store a few days ago. She was the CEO of Stark Industries. She used to be Tony's PA until he gave her his job. Her office was in Malibu.

Steve took off his mess dress and hung it carefully. Tony had gone to Malibu more than once during their time together. He rarely responded to Steve's messages when he was there, but Steve had figured that Tony was just busy. _Busy with what_ was the real question here.

Had Tony been two-timing him all along? Had Steve lost to someone else?

 

*

 

The next morning was the point at which Steve stopped avoiding Tony. He strode into the communal kitchen in his running gear, still sweating, knowing that his white shirt was practically see-through as it clung to him. Tony stood in front of the coffeemaker chatting wildly, Bruce trying to get a single word in around the hundreds that seemed to fall out of Tony's mouth at any given time.

“No, no, seriously,” Tony said, still focused on Bruce, “I'm right about this, I swear – hey, Robin Hood, get my back on this.”

Tony looked up to point at Clint, who was sitting at the kitchen bar and ignoring his oatmeal while watching a replay of a baseball game on a tablet. That's when their eyes met. Steve had perched himself beside Clint purposely, right where he knew Tony's line of sight would eventually fall, and fuck if Steve didn't wish he could have a picture of the way Tony's face blanched at the sight of him, his smile fading for the shortest of seconds before he went normal again.

“Hey Cupid” -

“Stark's right,” Clint mumbled. “About what, I don't know – _oh come on_ , if this guy throws a no-hitter I'm gonna jump off of the roof.” Clint was enthralled in the game but Steve just stared at Tony, looked right across the bar at him, and said nothing. Steve thought he was going to come in and play it cool, pretend that he didn't suspect that Tony was even slimier than he already knew he was, but now he couldn't help it. Steve thought about saving face again, about how he was supposed to be acting unaffected and not bothered, but fuck that. He hated the sight of that smug bastard just standing there and goofing off without a care in the world, so easily moving on to his CEO after hanging Steve out to dry. ( _Stupid jerk doesn't care about anyone but himself._ )

Steve eventually ate the rest of Clint's oatmeal after he left to watch the game in his room, and soon Bruce was muttering about being busy as he headed toward the elevator. Now it was just Tony and Steve in the kitchen, Tony holding a coffee cup, just staring at each other. Steve knew that Tony was one proud fucker that wouldn't back down when being accused of anything, so the standoffishness wasn't surprising in the least. Tony just leaned against the stove and stared across the island at Steve, who was crushing his water bottle in his hands.

“This is stupid,” Tony said. “Just say it.”

“I don't have anything to say, actually,” Steve replied. “It's more like a question, but I think I might already know the answer. Was there someone else?”

Tony paled so hard that Steve thought the man might faint – but if he did, he didn't intend to catch him. Not this time, at least. “What do you mean?” Tony asked, his tone light, though his face was anything but.

“You know what I mean,” Steve said. “Ms. Potts. I saw you with her last night. She's your CEO, she's in Malibu and you went...” Steve sighed. He knew he sounded like a jilted ex when he barely had the right to even call himself that. “All I'm saying is that you could have just told me there was someone else instead of making me feel like a boring lay.”

Something flashed on Tony's face but Steve wasn't sure what it was, and finally Tony stood up straight and walked toward Steve, leaning on the counter across from him.

“No, I couldn't have, actually,” Tony said, and Steve opened his mouth to speak when Tony continued. “It was you, Steve. _You_ were someone else.”

“What? I don't -”

“Pepper and I have been together for two years,” Tony said. Steve tried to let out a breath, but there was no air in his lungs. “And she would have been the first steady that I didn't cheat on, if not for you.” Tony shook his head. “I don't know, I wasn't thinking. I just...got comfortable. With both of you.”

“How is that _my_ fault -”

“It's _not_ ,” Tony said, perhaps too loudly, and he took a breath before continuing. “Look, I don't know what the hell you want from me, what you want me to say about all this...I'm sorry I got you mixed up in this, okay? I mean it'll be one hell of a learning experience for you, but...still. Mea culpa.”

Steve glanced at Tony's coffee cup when he went to take a sip. He could smell liquor in the air and it made him want to spit. It was eight in the morning and the bastard in front of him was already drinking.

“Ms. Potts is smart and beautiful,” Steve said. “A real catch. Why would you jeopardize that?”

Tony laughed into his drink. “You must not own a mirror or something. Please, there was no way I was passin' that up.”

Steve had never been referred to as a “that” before. This was the moment when he understood what women meant when they said a man had made them feel cheap.

“I don't get you, Stark,” Steve said. “You have everything anyone could ever want in the world but you're never satisfied. You've always gotta have more, always gotta have your cake and eat it too.”

“You don't have to tell me how shitty I am,” Tony said all too casually. “I know, buddy.”

“I'm not your buddy.”

Tony looked up then, his normally fiery expression now muted in a way that almost made Steve uncomfortable.

“Give it a few more weeks,” Tony said with a coldness that made Steve want to shiver. “It hurts, I know it does, but you're made out of strong stuff, and I can keep my distance. You'll get over it, and then we'll be good, right?”

Steve wanted to reach out and tip Tony's coffee cup down the front of his shirt. He wanted to grab Tony's hair and smash his face into the countertop. He wanted to go upstairs and find Pepper (who was definitely staying in the tower, Steve now realized) and spill his guts to her.

Instead, Steve stood up and went to the recycling to throw out his water bottle. He looked at Tony again, the smug fucking bastard who was so good at treating people like machines because he knew more about mechanics than people.

“I really can't believe you right now,” Steve said. “How you can be so...” He trailed off then and took in the sight of Tony leaned forward onto the countertop, a cup of booze cradled in his hands and his ass poking out, almost as if to taunt Steve. “You don't have _any_ kind of a heart in there, do you, Tony?”

“Look, Steve, life is full of hard knocks and -”

“You're a real son of a bitch.”

 

* * *

 

 

Tony went to his lab and stayed there. For 32 hours.

Until Pepper showed up with food and his favorite Bavarian beer. He told her he was stressed about opening an East Coast office and he just couldn't sleep. He figured she believed it because she did her usual de-stressing routine for him: food, a modest amount of alcohol, a foot rub, and a two-person bubble bath with an old movie. She didn't try to make any moves on him that night, as it was clear that he wasn't in the mood, but when they went to bed she uncharacteristically wrapped her arms around him and scooted close, curled into him in an attempt to reassure him that his fears were unfounded.

After Pepper rolled away from him, Tony got up. He smoked another cigarette out on the disassembly strip, where the wind was high but the noise of the city streets was soft, barely there.

 _You're a real son of a bitch_.

Tony went back inside to his lab. He was making a miniaturized arc reactor for Clint's automated quiver – it was way more powerful than the current battery SHIELD had installed, which meant that Tony could then design arrows with bigger explosions and more capabilities.

_You don't have any kind of a heart in there, do you, Tony?_

Tony made three miniature arc reactors that night. It was a total of four days awake and two fights with Pepper before he finally let himself rest.

 

*

 

Tony stormed away from Pepper and took to the stairs, leaving her wide-eyed and surrounded by her luggage in the living room. She was preparing to board a chopper to the airport when JARVIS announced that Steve was packing his things, and everything stopped for Tony right in that moment. All the pompous denial and pride seemed to drain out of him as he made his way down to Steve's floor, Pepper's voice dying out as the stairwell doors closed behind him.

He emerged onto Steve's floor to find his apartment completely intact – everything was on the walls, everything was on the countertops, and the television was even on. Tony closed his eyes and let out a breath of relief but then he heard the television snap off, and he looked up to see Steve walking towards him, a small duffel bag in each hand. The same two bags he'd arrived with over a month ago.

“Where are you going?” Tony asked. “Steve, come on, you don't have to leave.”

“Back to my place in Brooklyn,” Steve said. “And yes. Yes I do.”

“No you don't,” Tony said, and Steve looked away for a moment. “It doesn't have to be like this, okay? You're making this _so much_ harder than it has to be.”

“Maybe for you, but not for me,” Steve said. “This is what I need to do.”

Tony just huffed. “Come on, don't be such fucking baby about it,” he said, ignoring the way Steve's eyebrow hitched. “Breakups – they happen, okay? Why are you acting so -”

“Because I have a right to my feelings, Tony,” Steve said, pushing it out between his teeth in a such a way that gave Tony pause. Steve stood back a little, clearly trying to hold on to his composure. “And for the record, we didn't break up. What actually happened was I got to be your whore for a month, and I'm not doing you any favors by sticking around this place, okay? I'm not doing anything to make you feel better about all of this. You only wanna be friends and you only want me to stay because it'll make you feel better, and you're outta luck this time. I have to live with this shit now, and so will you.”

Tony almost didn't know what to say. He'd never had a breakup go this way. He'd never had anyone tell him _fuck you, too_ – well, he had, but he'd never _felt_ it before. Tony's stomach was trembling and he knew he was sweating, Steve's words wrapping around him like wool on summer day. The scorned had always held their heads up and strode out of the room, determined to take the high road in the face of being dumped by Tony Stark, and if they were hurt then Tony rarely heard about it.

“But what about the team?” Tony finally said. “How are you gonna...I mean...” Okay, bad argument. Steve could easily be an Avenger from another borough. “Come _on_ , don't leave. What are you gonna do in Brooklyn? Play bocce with retired mobsters? Your friends are here, you can't leave us.” Then Tony remembered something Steve said in the kitchen earlier in the week – _I'm not your buddy_ – something that had made his insides shrink with a fear that he'd never known before. “Look, I just want us to be okay after all this is said and done. I know I fucked up but I'm _trying_ here, Steve, and I don't understand why you wanna let our friendship go to ruin because of it.”

Tony didn't think that he'd said anything out of line – he always finished his breakup conversations with an affirmation of continued friendship (doesn't everyone?), but when Steve dropped his bags and took a step forward, eyes wide and his mouth crinkling with what Tony knew to be _hate_ , he couldn't help but take just a single step back.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Steve grumbled, all of his Captain America composure gone. He took a breath and blinked a bit, and when he spoke again his voice was considerably smoother. “You know, Tony, you were right. There, I said it. I got in over my head with you. I know I don't really know what I'm doing yet, but Tony - you said things, we did things that...how could you not...and I mean if I'd known about Pepper then I would have _never_...” Steve shook his head, his expression wavering for a moment before going hard again. “Those were all _my_ screw-ups. I just made a mistake. I messed up and gave a shit about someone who can't return the sentiment.”

“Look, I've got a fucking heart -”

“Maybe when it comes to Iron Man, but Tony Stark? Most selfish bastard I've ever met. You treat people like machines or toys or something, and then you talk about _me_ like I'm just a piece of meat, like I meant nothing to you. And we're supposed to be _friends_ now?”

Tony normally didn't even hear it anymore when people told him off, but Steve was making that face again, that horrible and devastated expression that made Tony's chest feel tight.

Steve leaned over and picked up his bags. Tony said Steve's name one last time, softly, unable to play the game anymore. He could smell Steve, his hair and his breath and his skin. Tony had fucked all of this up _so_ horribly, hadn't he? Pepper was still upstairs. What would he tell her? ( _Sorry I took off on you for a minute there, I was trying to convince the man I've been sleeping with not to move out._ )

“It wasn't easy for me, you know,” Tony said. Steve ignored him and just headed for the elevator, and Tony could feel his hands trembling, so he shoved them into his pockets. “Steve, please – let's not end it like this, let's...I mean we're gonna be okay, right? Come on, we can't -”

“You really fucking hurt me, Tony,” Steve said, and Tony didn't know that Steve had promised himself that he'd never say those words to him. “And now that I know _all_ _of_ _this_...look, I want you to be okay and everything, but I can't live with you anymore, and I can't call you my friend.” The weight of that statement hung heavy between the both of them for a moment before Steve continued. “We are teammates. Co-workers. We know a lot of the same people and we're bound to see each other in the future, but things aren't going to be the same between us – they _can't_ be. Not anymore, okay? You don't respect me, Tony. We are _not_ friends.”

Steve stepped onto the elevator and Tony turned away before the doors closed, but once he heard them snap shut he stopped, just steps from the stairwell door. Steve had basically done Tony a favor – he moved out, minimizing the risk of Pepper learning about their affair. So why had Tony begged him to stay? Why did he feel so fucking torn up right now?

He went back into the stairwell and climbed a single flight before sitting and crossing his arms on his knees, then resting his head there. That's how Pepper found him about ten minutes later, and he didn't try to say anything to her. He tried to make it look like a panic attack – twitched a bit, but his heart wasn't in it. Still, Pepper rescheduled her flight home for late that night and drew him a bath.

 

He gave her a proper goodbye and then went to the common room with a bottle of Maker's Mark, a common bourbon but a good one, and easy to drink straight. That was what he needed, something simple and easy. He had JARVIS turn on _His Girl Friday_ and he used a knife to cut the wax seal.

Bruce showed up from somewhere at some point and Tony offered him the bottle, but he didn't take it. Half of it was already gone. “You miss Pepper?” Bruce asked, eying the bottle.

Tony was thinking of Steve's apartment, how everything was intact except whatever was in the two tiny bags that he'd taken with him. He knew that apartment up and down. He'd go there and figure out what Steve took with him.

“Yes,” Tony said. “She should visit more often.”

“Yeah,” Bruce said, and he turned to the movie. “Hey, apparently Steve moved out.”

“Yeah.”

“No goodbyes even. It was weird.”

“He said it was what he needed to do. Whatever, he's an asshole.”

 

Tony got up to pee and took the bottle with him. Bruce pulled out his phone.

 

Tony took the stairs to Steve's apartment. It was completely dark in the living room. “Lights, JARVIS.” They came up slowly to show Tony the intact room – the simple antique furniture that Tony had known Steve would like, the super-modern television, the record player, old war posters, framed photos of Josephine Baker and her pet cheetah. These were all things that Tony had stocked the place with, things that Steve had appreciated more than most. He perused and found a couple of books missing ( _The Time Machine, The Bluest Eye_ ) and as well as a CD ( _Ella and Basie!_ ). He went to Steve's bedroom and found that his favorite clothes were gone – all ones he'd brought with him. He didn't take anything Tony had bought for him. In the bathroom, Steve's toothbrush and his toiletries were all gone. The spare toothbrush remained in its spot.

Back in the bedroom, Tony fell onto the mattress and pressed his face into the pillow. Steve hadn't washed his sheets or made the bed, which was odd for him. The pillowcase smelled like shampoo and hair, and Tony breathed it in deep.

What a waste. What an absolute fucking waste of a month together. Tony sat the bottle on the floor and fell asleep right there.

 

* * *

 

Back in Brooklyn, Steve was dusting his apartment. The air smelled sweet and he peeked into the kitchen to check the timer – just another minute or two.

He heard his phone beep and he dropped the rag on top of the mantle and got his phone from his back pocket. It was a text from Bruce: _Tony is wasted and he called you an asshole. Why'd you move out?_ He put his phone away and picked up the rag again. He'd call later.

 

*

 

“JARVIS, where's Tony?”

“ _He is asleep in Captain Rogers's bedroom, sir._ ”

Bruce held his breath for a moment. “Is Steve there?”

“ _No, sir._ ”

 

*

 

Steve sat a perfect coffee cake on his stovetop and smiled. He usually served this to the team on Sundays. No one had ever made fun of him for baking because he was just so damned good at it. He picked up the bowl of icing and began to stir it, but then his phone beeped again.

_Tony passed out in your bedroom. WTF Steve._

Steve iced the cake, then called Bruce and spilled his guts. Didn't hold back anything. Now two people knew – Bruce and Happy – but that wasn't so bad. Bruce had his own secret to share as well, and Steve felt good knowing that Bruce trusted him that much. It was just nice to have someone to talk to about it, to be affirmed that he was justified in his anger and that moving out made sense. Steve knew how Tony was and the news that he was drunk in his old bedroom was worrying, but he was done with putting Tony first. Tony was an adult; he'd find his way out of this, and so would Steve. Maybe they would even meet in the middle.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In the past there were days when Tony would put on the armor just to fly up to Steve's window and dance around in the air, waving hello._

Tony decided that he didn't like New York. He didn't like the weather, the smells, the traffic, the people. The lack of a coastal highway. The tower was so big. He needed to be near Pepper, to sleep beside someone. He loved having roommates (for lack of a better word) but the nights were so long, so quiet. The nightmares and panic attacks were coming more and more often, and Pepper had flown out entirely too many times to deal with them. Rhodey would visit too, and he'd taken to sleeping in Tony's bed like they used to in college. It was a good thing, though – Tony liked a big, strong hand on his stomach or his chest when he was hyperventilating. The weight of Rhodey's hand was reassuring, comforting.

Tony had Steve's apartment electronically sealed. Only Steve's live thumbprint, accompanied by matching body heat and other biometric signatures, could open it again. Even Tony couldn't get inside of it anymore. It was an attempt to move on, to forget.

He hadn't seen Steve since the day he left, though Steve had been to the tower several times since then. Movie nights, dinners, logistics meetings, pizza pub crawls – all events that Tony knew he wasn't invited to, so he didn't even bother.

So Tony decided he'd just move back to Malibu.

 

* * *

 

Steve heard that Tony moved out of the tower and back to California, but he didn't move back in. That would be too telling. He'd had a month to think over everything and be sufficiently embarrassed by giving a self-professed playboy the satisfaction of leaving another broken heart in his wake.

And it was that simple. Tony had broken Steve's heart – not that Steve hadn't set himself up for it. Why hadn't he seen that from the beginning?

Months passed and Steve made a life for himself. Yes he _did_ play bocce ball with old mobsters, but he also joined a bowling league and started playing rummy with some young guys at the bar below his apartment. He made friends who weren't superheroes, friends who knew he was Captain America but didn't give a shit, whether they were too cool to admit it or just genuinely didn't care. He visited the tower plenty and only smiled at Bruce's suggestions that he move back in, and Bruce never argued at Steve's lack of an answer. He understood just fine. Steve was pretty sure the others knew by now, or at least Clint did, as he'd suggested Steve move back in on the same day that Tony left.

More months passed and Steve tried to move on – hell, he even had a fling. With a guy, the strawberry-blond SHIELD agent that Tony had caught playing Galaga the first day on the Helicarrier. They went out on three dates that all ended with sex, sex that was energetic and pleasing but ultimately empty. Steve realized that he cared about his fling but wasn't interested in a relationship with him, and he told him so, and they both agreed that it had been fun and that they'd see each other around work. And they did see each other, all the time. They always said hello to each other and did not shy away from casual interactions. It was never awkward.

Now _that_ was a fling. A short and mostly-sexual affair that left everyone happy and _not_ feeling used in the end. Steve felt his anger flare up when he remembered Tony describing their time together like that, but he had to let it go. He'd started out back at his own apartment angry and bitter and swearing not to fuck another person that he didn't think he could marry, but eight months later he was feeling more rational. He was no longer trying to punish himself with solitude for making such a boneheaded mistake, and he was ready to stop being angry with Tony. It wasn't a good feeling, carrying around hate and pain all the time, and there was also the fact that they couldn't avoid each other forever – eventually they'd end up in the same room, and Steve needed to be able to keep himself together if that was going to happen. He didn't necessarily think that someone as unappreciative as Tony deserved forgiveness, but he wasn't doing it for Tony.

Then this Mandarin guy popped up in the news. SHIELD wasn't getting involved, and Steve had no idea why.

Bruce went to Malibu a couple of times to check in with Tony, and he also checked in with Rhodey at Edwards AFB, but neither gave up much information. Tony was just insisting that everything was alright, said he didn't want anyone else to get hurt, which made Steve smirk. He just kept playing rummy and bowling and hanging out with his team and scouring the internet for any news of The Mandarin.

Then there was an explosion at Mann's Chinese Theater that left Happy Hogan in a coma. Steve was seconds away from asking Bruce to call Malibu when he turned on the news and saw the dumbass giving out his home address. They were all gathered around the television in the common area when the first missile was fired into the house. Bruce shuddered and stood, his hands in fists as he left the room. Steve couldn't help himself – he grabbed Clint's hand. Natasha took Clint's other hand, and Steve could feel Thor's heavy arm draped across his shoulders, one hand squeezing anxiously at his arm as Tony's house just fell apart, live on national television. Steve knew they were all looking at him like he was made of glass, but he kept his eyes glued on the television. They all held on through the entire siege, and Steve finally got up when he saw Iron Man ( _Tony..._ ) falling out of the crumbling house and splashing down into the ocean. Piles and piles of rubble falling right on top of him.

Steve went to the rooftop patio. Bruce was sitting at a table and smoking a joint, whiskey in hand and clearly trying to keep himself from Hulking out. He shared them both with Steve wordlessly, the two of them looking into the sky and periodically glancing down at the disassembly strip a few floors below them.

 

Steve slept over that night, in a guest room. They all insisted.

 

A day passed and then the media began to declare Tony Stark dead. It was obvious, wasn't it? Pepper was in hiding and not communicating with SHIELD (they _hoped_ that was the case), and one morning Bruce dropped his tablet, the screen shattering across a news report that Lt. Col. James Rhodes and the Iron Patriot armor had both gone missing in the Middle East. Steve called his old fling to see if they could get a lead on Rhodey's whereabouts, and the guy really did try for him but came up empty-handed. The next day, Nick Fury finally called and threatened them all with imprisonment if they got involved. Clint had already secretly been to Malibu and had gotten back that day, though, and he didn't speak to anyone when he returned. Just went straight to Bruce's lab and stayed there until dinner, where Bruce did not join them. Clint loaded up his plate while the others just sat there, their own dinners untouched, and he said, “Couldn't find him.” Clint didn't eat, either.

 

Steve got in the elevator and pressed the button for his old floor. The button had once been designed to look like his shield but now it was just brushed metal beneath his finger. He pressed the button and nothing happened, and when he looked at the touchscreen he saw that it was asking for his thumbprint. Never had before. He pressed it there and then the elevator began to move.

He got out and there was another touchscreen by his door, newly installed. He pressed his thumb to it and he heard the deadbolt click free. ( _Who sealed my old place up?_ ) The lights came on when he entered. It was dusty but nothing had changed, nothing had moved. At all. He went to the bedroom and saw that his bed was still unmade, the covers tousled in a way he didn't remember from the day he left. He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked out of the floor-to-ceiling windows. In the past there were days when Tony would put on the armor just to fly up to his window and dance around in the air, waving hello.

Steve put his head in his hands. What a waste. What an absolute fucking waste of a month together. Of what could have been a beautiful thing.

He looked down and saw half a bottle of Maker's Mark sitting on his bedroom floor, a bottle that hadn't been there when he left. He picked it up and read the label, chipped at the red wax seal with his nails. He looked out of the window again. He thought of Tony flying around outside, dipping and diving and spinning while Steve smiled from the bed.

He brought Tony's bottle to his lips and just held it there, smelling the scent that reminded him so much of that bastard. He kept trying to call Tony that in his head ( _that stupid bastard who invited a terrorist to dinner_ ) but it wasn't working. It wasn't having the effect it'd had months ago. His hold on all of this was starting to slip now that he didn't know where Tony was, didn't even know if he was still alive. Months of progress were being undone by unanswered questions. ( _Where the hell is he? Could he really be fucking dead?_ )

Steve stretched out on his bed and sat the bottle on his bedside table. He flung an arm over his eyes and sighed, then sighed again. He tried counting slowly and he tried thinking of other things, but eventually he began to cry, covering his face all the while. What a waste.

 

* * *

 

The shit with The Mandarin didn't help Tony's PTSD _at all._

 

He felt good to be rid of Iron Man, though, and the world still had War Machine. It felt strange not to have a piece of metal whirring in his chest, but Tony liked the silence at night. Rhodey didn't mind helping out if he was ever needed, which everyone agreed would be as rarely as possible. Tony didn't want to put Rhodey's life at risk any more than it had been already, so he decided to act as a liaison between SHIELD and War Machine so that Tony would always have a say in how thoroughly Rhodey was used by the organization.

The two of them decided to meet up on the Helicarrier during Pepper's last round of treatments for removing the Extremis. Bruce was helping a lot with creating medications and designing a treatment plan for her, and this would be her last weekend aboard Fury's flying fortress (there had been two already).

Tony and Rhodey hopped off of the Quinjet and walked towards the entrance to the bridge, only to find Thor standing there in civilian clothes, legs and arms akimbo like a fucking cartoon of himself. Tony would have laughed if not for the furious look on his face, and he straightened up immediately once they were face to face. Thor nodded to Rhodey, who nodded back, but after that he directed his glare at Tony, who already felt small enough around Thor as it was.

“Stark,” Thor said. “The others wait for you inside. We must have words.” Thor looked at Rhodey then, whose smile faded. “You as well, Colonel.”

 

Thank god “the others” didn't include Steve.

They were all rightfully angry with them for not getting any of their help, but they explained themselves well enough. Tony pointed out Pepper's glowing eyes and fiery touch – as well as the fact that she could explode at any time – and reminded them all how it could have happened to them. Rhodey showed the burn on his stomach and Bruce looked away. They all scolded them appropriately, then they all hugged, and then they all hugged more. Tony left Rhodey to get what seemed to be a stern talking-to from Bruce in a quiet corner of the room, Bruce's eyes tight and Rhodey's face somber. ( _Weird._ ) Tony gathered up his tablet and cell phone and headed to the hospital wing, where Pepper was being prepped for her last round of treatments.

 

They were on the Helicarrier for three days before Tony finally saw Steve. Tony was walking to medical when he glanced into Bruce's lab. Steve was in civilian clothes and leaning back on a lab table while chatting with Bruce, who was typing tirelessly at a computer console. Steve had a hologram of a basketball and he was spinning it on his finger while he talked, his smile bright and his laugh coming easily. Tony kept walking. Steve never saw him.

 

*

 

The jet dropped them off at Stark Tower, where he, Rhodey, and Pepper had been staying. It would take some getting used to, knowing he could never go back to his Malibu mansion, but the truth was that he didn't hate New York nearly as much as he let on. He'd had dinner with his friends for four days straight. Nothing wrong with that. Sleep came easier, and more peacefully, with more people around.

Rhodey opted for a guest room on the communal floor, which was new because he typically slept in Tony's penthouse when he visited New York. Pepper was tired and went straight to their bedroom, and she unpacked silently while Tony prepared himself a drink. He'd hang out with Pepper for a bit before going down to the communal floor to bullshit around with the others – something he almost hated to admit that he'd missed. He walked up to her at the foot of the bed and caressed her shoulder.

“Feelin' okay?” he asked, and she nodded, not looking at him. “I'm gonna go downstairs, check in on the team. You're welcome to join if -”

“I have to ask you about something,” Pepper said, and he already didn't like the sound of that.

 

*

 

How did she find out?

How _the fuck_ did she find out?

Pepper didn't know much – only that Tony had slept with Steve at least once after the battle in New York. He asked her over and over again how she knew but she wouldn't give up her mole. He knew that Happy knew about it but of course he'd never sell Tony out like that, but who else was there? Sometimes he thought Bruce knew about it but then again Bruce wouldn't sell him out, either, even if he did know.

He apologized to her more profusely and sincerely than he ever had before. If he hadn't been too proud to lay himself at her feet, he would have done so. He tried to blame PTSD and post-battle adrenalin and needing someone to sleep beside him, but none of those things made it alright. Pepper didn't cry – she didn't even get that upset, almost as if she'd been expecting it out of him or something.

She went to go visit her cousin in Seattle for a few days. She needed to think about all this, she said, and he wouldn't stop her. More and more fallout. Tony wasn't surprised. He sent her flowers and chocolate oranges every day, made reservations for her at the most expensive restaurants in town and sent her Agent Provocateur lingerie. After a while he suspected that she was giving it all to her cousin and sending her relatives out on the fanciest dates they'd ever experienced. Pepper wasn't returning his calls or texts, and after a week he stopped calling and texting. Two weeks, and he stopped sending gifts. He saw what was coming and he knew he fucking deserved it.

 

*

 

So he supposed he was back in the tower permanently. Nowhere else to go, really. There was talk of restoring his family's mansion and turning it into a team residence, but the idea of it made Tony's flesh crawl. The warmth of a house. He didn't want that right now, even if he was lonely.

Tony smoked a cigarette and went for a walk on the piers in Chelsea, a place he used to visit a lot when he was a teenager – and also sometimes during his sluttier days as an adult. Rhodey had gone back to base, so now he was all alone. He made it down to Pier 63, where the trees gave men plenty of space to hide. He just walked around, watched all the boys fucking and sucking and jerking each other off, none of them even registering his presence. Most of the ones he could see weren't handsome but that didn't matter in the dark, did it? He had some good memories of this place, believe it or not. He thought of Pepper and he thought of...the fact that he didn't have any condoms on him. So he just went back to the tower and to his lab, where he found that his liquor cabinet had remained perfectly intact over the course of a year.

 

*

 

Tony heard that Steve fucked that idiot that was playing Galaga on the Helicarrier that time. Probably just SHIELD gossip, but he casually asked questions the next time he ended up there – apparently it didn't last very long, but they were still friends. And then Tony saw them together as he walked through the bridge on the way to a briefing. Steve was handing the guy a stack of intel, something so security-sensitive that there was only a single hard copy available, and they both held onto the documents as they chatted for a moment, then smiled and patted arms as they said goodbye. Tony kept walking. Steve never saw him.

 

Rhodey called twice that day but Tony didn't pick up. He went back to the piers and blew two guys, then fucked one. The guy he fucked took him to what had to be _the shittiest_ gay bar in the Bowery, where they danced to Judas Priest and jacked each other off in the back room by the gloryholes. Tony did a bump of K for the first time since his post-graduation stint as a party boy, and he smoked half a pack of cigarettes. The men at this bar were nice but sleazy, friendly types who could hold conversations about obscure art and culture while sliding a hand into someone's ass. He didn't bother to ask if they knew who he was because of course they did. He didn't really care because they were all too trashed to remember anything the next day.

 

The next morning, Tony's sore jaw and phlegm-filled lungs reminded him of exactly what he'd gotten up to the night before. In the shower he found a bite mark on his hip, which puzzled him _(Who bit me? Who got that close to me down there? Why don't I remember? Huh_.) but still made him smile. He went straight to the bar that night, and then to the piers. Better to be drunk first, he thought.

 

*

 

The next day, Pepper video-conferenced him to break up officially.

 

A couple of days later, she showed up to retrieve her things. He pleaded with her as she sat on the couch, on his knees in front of her with his head in her lap and tears sliding down his face, too drunk to hold himself back. She petted his hair and apologized, said she was sorry over and over again and eventually it just started to piss Tony off. He'd rather sleep alone, deal with the fucking anxiety attacks himself. He stood and nodded and retreated to his lab, where he watched through the window as her helicopter took off about twenty minutes later.

Rhodey called and Tony finally picked up. He was there by dinnertime, and they went out for cheesesteaks and American beer in Queens. Rhodey told him not to go back to the piers, but Tony just smiled and nodded. Rhodey asked about the team and Tony shrugged, said he'd rather hang out with an old friend. He needed something more familiar than they were, but he didn't say that. Bruce joined them later for a movie, and Tony woke up on his couch at 2 am and let Rhodey lead him to his room, where the two of them fell asleep beside each other.

 

At 4 am, Tony sat bolt upright in bed, breathing huge breaths. Rhodey was practiced at handling this by now and he did what Tony had asked of him in the beginning: he put a leg on each side of him and held him tightly from behind, counting into his ear a bit too loudly but that was okay. Tony closed his eyes but Rhodey's hands were calloused, harder than...the ones that could soothe him with their touch alone. Still, he eventually let out a long breath and laid his head back on Rhodey's shoulder, and he could feel his friend's relief as the tension left both of them.

“You gonna be okay, Tony?”

“I really fucked this all up, didn't I?”

Rhodey stayed quiet for a moment. “Hey man, I don't -”

“I know you know,” Tony said. “I know she told you – she _had_ to. You're her best friend, too – of course she went crying to you.” Rhodey didn't respond, which Tony took as a cue to keep talking. “So now Pepper doesn't want me, and Steve – shit, he hasn't spoken to me since he moved out last year. Haven't even seen him.” That last bit wasn't true, but Tony thought he deserved to keep some memories for himself. He sighed, hanging his head. “I lost them both.”

“I know you're goin' through a lot right now, but you're not alone,” Rhodey said, and then he hugged Tony, and it actually helped him feel a bit better. “If you ever need someone, just remember that you _already have_ someone, okay?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Learn to stop worrying, and love the bomb._

Steve had nightmares, too. Tony just didn't know about them.

He woke up silently, his eyes flicking open and scanning the room. Steve lay as still as possible, still looking around, still scanning for threats. He felt frightfully cold. He knew it was in his head but that didn't offer any comfort.

 

When he'd slept in Tony's bed he always woke up that way, his eyes opening and the rest of him frozen. Tony was always fast asleep, either exhausted from days awake or sleeping with booze in his system, and Steve would get up and wash his face and take showers so hot his skin would be red in the end. He would close his eyes and remember the feeling of succumbing to cold, of his heart rate and breathing slowing down until he couldn't stay conscious. He would close his eyes and see a glacier coming at him. He would close his eyes and see Iron Man free-falling from thousands of feet in the air. He would close his eyes and see the arc reactor under his gloved hand, and its light would be out.

Then he'd come out of the bathroom and slide back into bed, and Tony would always be awake. Every single time. He'd just turn over and tell him he smelled good, bury his face in his neck and wrap his legs around him, and Steve...he never had a chance.

 

Once Steve felt comfortable enough he sat up and rose out of bed, stretching a bit before picking up his pajama pants and pulling them on over his boxers. He went to the dresser and got a shirt, a long-sleeved one, and put it on. He knew that he'd be sweating in minutes, but it made him feel better. He looked at the clock and saw that it was four in the morning. He thought of getting up for the day, but he also felt he deserved to sleep in a bit. What with discovering Tony was alive and all. He'd opted out of being there for the bitch session on the Helicarrier; he wasn't sure how he wanted his first meeting with Tony in a year to go, but he knew he didn't want the others around for it. He wasn't sure what would happen, but it probably wouldn't be good.

He walked out of the guest room and towards the kitchen on the communal floor. Steve wasn't sure how he'd been convinced to stay there while Tony was in the tower – oh yeah, it was Clint, who'd insisted that it wouldn't be a big deal to crash for a night, he did it all the time already, he still had clothes there for cryin' out loud. Clint was a good salesman, and Steve didn't regret it. It was quieter up so far away from the cars and crowds.

He walked in the kitchen and there was Tony at the bar. He was barefoot and his black jeans were unbuttoned, but they were too tight to do more than just sag down his hips a bit. He was rifling through the bottles, mumbling to himself as he picked them up, read their labels, then put them back down in frustration. He was clearly drunk and he was covered in little bruises and bloody scrapes, but Steve's heart still jumped into his throat for a moment, relief rushing through him like a hot wave. He'd known Tony was alive for a while now, but seeing him – _finally_ seeing him with his own eyes, all banged up but standing at a bar and tapping his toes idly...

“Tony,” Steve said, and he coughed when he heard the thickness in his voice. Tony looked over sharply, everything about him going still, his eyes big and wide for a moment. They traveled up and down Steve, surveying him, taking him in. And then he smiled lazily, his eyes now seeming to swim. He was trashed.

“Heya, Cap,” Tony said, turning to face him. “Long time.”

Steve eyed the mess of scars on Tony's chest, then let his eyes dart around the cuts and finger-shaped bruises that were dug into his sides. He tried to set his jaw but it wasn't working, his mouth kept moving because he wanted to say something – he almost felt overwhelmed and he was worried he wouldn't be able to keep it together. So he took a deep breath and let it out, closing his eyes for a moment and then opening them back up with all the Captain America bravado he could muster.

“I thought you died,” Steve said.

“Well, I didn't,” Tony said.

“Why didn't you get in touch with any of us?”

“You shoulda come to that meeting if you still wanted to bitch at me for that. I don't need to hear any more of this shit.”

Tony turned back to the bar and picked up a bottle, any random bottle, then turned to face Steve again. “I guess I'll be seeing you around, huh?” he said.

“You will,” Steve said. He couldn't look at Tony for this next bit. “I really thought you were dead, Stark. We all did.”

Steve heard Tony sigh and he looked up; Tony's eyes were downcast towards the bottle he held limply at his side. He looked up at Steve with an expression that he hadn't seen in a year, something much softer than the sneer Tony had greeted him with when he first saw him. But it was gone in an instant when Tony stood up straight and strode towards the elevator.

“Next time it'll be for real – don't worry,” Tony said as he walked away, not looking back. “I got company, Cap. See ya.”

Steve paled, his skin going ice cold. Company? He'd heard things over the past month or so about Tony – staying gone for days, bringing home strangers, being wasted all the time. He looked like shit and the bruises on Tony looked like they'd been left by someone's hands. Steve went back to his bedroom and got under the covers. He was fucking freezing.

 

* * *

 

( _I can't sleep, Steve. I've been getting fucked up every night just so I can pass out. Can't sleep any other way. There's a man in my apartment and I kinda just want him to leave. I'm really drunk and I've done too many bumps to pass out just yet. Why do all these assholes have ketamine on them? My throat is numb and I am so tired. I don't want to drink any more but I'm gonna have to if I'm gonna fuck this guy. I want to go to sleep._ )

 

“I couldn't find that shit you were talking about. Here, there's this.” Tony dropped a bottle of what turned out to be Hennessy in Troy's lap – if he brought them home then they needed a name, and he called them all Troy – and plopped down on the couch, pulling his cock out while Troy the Fourth took a long drink. Troy's hair was – okay, Tony didn't give a fuck what he looked like, so he just took the bottle and put it to his lips, literally tugging the bourbon out of it as he slumped down into the couch cushions. Troy got up and straddled Tony's lap, taking out his cock and bumping it against Tony's cheek. He put the bottle down and sucked Troy off, let him fuck his face and slap him. They'd already discussed how this would go on the taxi ride over. This was what Tony asked for.

( _Fuck you, Steve. Why are you in my fucking home?_ )

Troy had two handfuls of Tony's hair and he was snapping his hips harshly before pulling Tony off and smacking him hard across the cheek. Tony's cock jumped in his hand and he sighed as this stranger shoved roughly into his mouth again, all the way in, pinning his head to the back of the couch.

( _Fuck you, Steve. I'll blow every scumfuck in Alphabet City before I fuck you again._ )

Tony pulled Troy out of his mouth and jerked him off on his chest, and he just left it there as he sighed, sinking down into the couch further. He just breathed, not even bothering to wipe himself off as this stranger rolled a condom down Tony's weeping cock and then turned his back to him, straddling his hips and mounting him in reverse. ( _Good_.) Tony grabbed Troy's hips and fucked hard into him. ( _Don't wanna see your fucking face anyway. At least you're blond._ )

Tony closed his eyes and stayed silent, and it didn't take long for him to come. He was relieved when Troy immediately got up and started putting his clothes back on, and Tony disposed of the condom in a daze.

“If I give you a thousand dollars,” Tony said as he laid back on the couch again, “will you get the fuck out of here?”

Troy just smiled as he tied his shoes. “You're speaking my language, Mr. Stark.”

A rent boy. Thank fucking god. They were so much easier to deal with than regular tricks. Tony got cash for Troy and also got the guy's card, and JARVIS called a taxi for him while the elevator took him down. Tony was hammered now, couldn't think, and his head throbbed from all the blows to his face. He had enough presence of mind to messily wipe his chest clean with a pillow before he passed out, cock still hanging out of his pants. He hoped no one would find him like this in the morning, but he couldn't move.

 

*

 

The next day, Tony's left eye had a slight bruise around it's outer edge and his lip was split. There were scratches on his neck and a few on his face. He didn't really remember last night – well, he did, a little, but he ignored the flashes when they came. ( _My head is being pounded into the couch. Wow, this fucking guy is slapping me hard. Didn't know I liked that shit. Slippery slope, Stark, especially in your current condition._ )

Tony found the pillow he'd cleaned himself with – not just a pillow, but a handmade silk cushion he'd bought in Azerbaijan, and he tossed it, come and all, into the kitchen trash. He got himself a cup of coffee and dumped a liberal amount of whiskey in it. He rubbed his cheek ( _kid must have been wearing a ring_ ) and took a sip, then thought about the fact that he couldn't cook to save his life. It was a Sunday, about two in the afternoon. There would be some coffee cake left, maybe...

Steve. He'd seen Steve last night, hadn't he? He tried to remember...at the bar downstairs, yeah, he was trying to find Galliano for that guy and Steve was there. He'd looked frazzled and skittish, like he'd had a bad dream or something, and of course he just _had_ to make that fucking face when they saw each other, didn't he? Their conversation had been terse, but what did he expect after a year? Tony never claimed to be better than he was.

Tony turned and looked at his reflection in the oven window. His eye was swelling a bit. He loved the drag of nails across his skin and sharp pinches to his sides, but he'd have to outlaw getting hit in the face from now on. He was sure Steve was downstairs stuffing everyone full of cake but he wouldn't join them. He didn't want to hear it. “JARVIS, order brunch. From that French place. Brasserie somethin', the usual. I'm heading to my lab.”

 

*

 

Tony and Pepper were back on speaking terms. Not that they ever weren't, but neither of them really had much to say to the other after all was said and done. Tony couldn't make any excuses for an affair as hot and heavy as the one he'd had with Steve, and over the course of a few weeks Pepper had found out more and more. How, he had no fucking idea, none at all – was she talking to Steve? Were they bonding over what a piece of shit Tony was? He wasn't sure, but Pepper knew about the bed-sharing and dirty texts and the kiss on the helipad. Tony asked Happy if he told and he swore he didn't, and Tony believed him.

Still, Tony didn't try to talk his way out of his bad behavior or blame anyone else. Pepper seemed to appreciate that, and now his lab was doubling as an office while he started doing a little bit of work for SI again. Not much stuff, just consulting with R&D on different energy projects, and he was also still doing a minor amount of tinkering for the team – improving Clint and Natasha's weapons and helping Bruce on his own projects. He liked having a light load so that he could go out at night and hang out with The Troys, get fucked and get fucked up. He liked to pick boys up and fuck them against trees or walls so they had to hug him, had to grab his shoulders and moan into his ear, be close to him for a minute or two. It kept his mind away from his empty bed, the nightmares, the way the others looked at him now, the fact that Steve visited the team at least three times a week – and he never even spoke to Tony. Three times a week was an awful lot of time to spend in a place where you don't live or work, Tony thought. What was Steve doing with the rest of his time? Publicity? Logistics for SHIELD? How did Steve spend his days? What was he doing right now?

( _SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP_ )

Today was for work, and today Tony would work alone – he looked awful and felt it too, and he could have hugged the delivery guy once his food finally showed up. He crashed on a couch in the corner and stuffed his face with coq au violet, and he drank a Beaujolais Nouveau to compliment it though he couldn't claim to be that sophisticated. He was almost done eating when he heard a knock right before the door opened, and he knew it was Bruce because he was the only one who entered his lab so casually these days.

At least there weren't any marks on his face. He'd had to stay away for days after that “date” with Troy the Fourth, and all the other Troys now knew that Tony's face was off limits. The same couldn't be said for what was under his shirt and pants, though, but Tony liked carrying around evidence of his wild evenings. He liked looking in the mirror and seeing a mysterious hand print bruised into his hips, having no idea who did it. He liked having a sore throat from nights of blowing so many guys he'd lose count. It was hard on his body but he liked the pain, craved it, felt he deserved it in a way.

“Hey,” Bruce said as he walked over. “Brought this up from QA for you.” He held up a flash drive and dropped it on a nearby table. “So who was that in the stairwell with you last night?”

Tony's brow wrinkled for a second, and then he dropped his head, almost dipping his nose into his chicken. Oh yeah, he fucked some guy in the stairwell last night – no idea how or why they ended up _there_ , but that's where they were. Troy the Sixth. A real cutie.

“Why were you in the stairwell?” Tony asked.

“We heard screaming,” Bruce said. “Steve thought someone was trying to kill you.” Bruce chuckled then, oddly. “Turns out _you_ were trying to kill him.”

“ _Steve_ saw?” Tony knew all the color was draining from him when Bruce nodded. “What – why the fuck is he always here? I thought he lived in Brooklyn. Doesn't he have a fucking _job_ or something?” He dropped his food on the table in front of him. “Jesus Christ.” He covered his face with one hand, knowing it wasn't hiding his fierce blush. He was embarrassed, humiliated – it was bad enough for Bruce to see him that way, but Steve too? Shit, he felt like fucking dying.

“Yeah, he does tactical training for SHIELD recruits,” Bruce said, his tone a little bewildered. “We're all friends, he comes to visit after work and -”

“Steve and I are _not_ fucking friends,” Tony spit out, harsher than he meant to, but he was already a little drunk and planning on getting drunker. “I mean he's welcome here, of course, but I don't need that asshole spying on me.”

“He wasn't spying, neither of us were,” Bruce said, and he finally sat down. “Your shirt was off, Tony – I know what you look like under there. Were you into that before?” Tony peeked up at Bruce's face, at the worry that was painted across it so plainly, and it offended the fuck out of him.

“Before _what_?” Tony asked, his tone sharp.

Bruce blinked and sat back a little. “Steve. Pepper.”

Tony's insides throbbed and his face felt hot, his eyes stinging. He wanted to thank god when Bruce continued – well, until he heard the question.

“How are you sleeping?”

“I'm not.” Tony was surprised by his honesty. “Not unless I'm exhausted from fucking or shitfaced on booze and K.”

“Ketamine?” Bruce said, and Tony nodded. “Tony, I...” Bruce looked down and took a breath, his hands squeezing at his knees. Were they shaking? “What the fuck is going on with you? I'm here – we're _all_ here for you _,_ and no one's mad at you. Your friends miss you – I mean does Jim know you're...” Bruce trailed off and just shook his head, looking away.

“What's with you and Rhodey?” Tony asked, sitting up straight, glad for the distraction. “What's this 'Jim' shit about, huh? You got a crush on my buddy?” Bruce's face hardened defensively and he looked away, down at the hand on his knee. “It's okay – I can put in a good word for you.”

“Jim and I have been together for seven months,” Bruce said. “How could you not know that?”

“Congrats,” Tony said lightly. “Did he send you here to talk to me?” His tone was teasing, and Bruce rolled his eyes and shook his head, looking as if he was ready to just give up. “Or was it Spangles? Asshole's here enough anyway.” Bruce opened his mouth to speak, but Tony raised his hand and continued. “If Cap wants to know who I'm fucking, he can ask me himself. It's been a over a year, he doesn't have to tiptoe around me anymore – and hey, I'm having _fun_ , Bruce. I'm enjoying being single, and I'm not doing anything that I haven't done before – even the drugs. It's just a bump here and there – I swear I'm not addicted. I don't _need_ it. So, ya know. Learn to stop worrying, and love the bomb.”

 

Tony went to the piers for the first time during the day. The men were hotter, younger – Puerto Rican bus boys and lawyers on their lunch breaks. It was bright out and everyone could be clearly seen, but a mutual desire for anonymity protected him and he dove right in. He was functionally drunk, perhaps a bit too sober for the rough stuff, but he was still pissed and embarrassed so he just fucked until he couldn't anymore, and by that time it was Happy Hour at the bar, so he took his last trick there for champagne and rock 'n roll.

 

*

 

“No, no, no – not _that_ door -”

But it was too late. Troy the Eighth had already opened the door to the common area and walked in a few steps before stopping and laughing, too drunk to give a shit. The entire group looked up from the movie they were watching to see Tony trying to wrangle a drunk Latino bartender back towards the stairs, wasted and stumbling all over himself and mumbling amazingly insincere apologies. He saw Steve going to stand right as Troy was finally pushed back into the stairwell, and Tony yelled a “goodnight!” before shutting the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Steve, please. We think he might actually listen to you.”

“No. I'll get mad and knock his lights out, I know I will.”

Natasha sighed and leaned back, shaking her head. “He's an adult,” she said. “We're not gonna follow him around or put tabs on him, but I think I can speak for everyone when I say that we don't want him bringing any more strangers into our home.” There were nods all around, and Steve just sighed. He looked back to the stairwell door, remembering the scene from the night before. Tony, bruised and scratched to hell and back, rutting into some no-name on the stairs, both of them screaming so loud that it sounded like a fucking murder scene. Steve cringed and swallowed hard.

“I just don't understand why it has to be _me_ that talks to him,” he said weakly.

“Steve, be real,” Bruce said. “You know he's still got a soft spot for you.”

“I _don't_ know that, actually.” Steve's eyes flashed around quickly, surveying the rest of the group's faces, but no one looked surprised by his reaction. They all knew by now, and he was sure that no one blamed him for his trepidation. “Fine,” he said, and he swore he heard the whole group sigh collectively. “Tomorrow or something. I'm not going anywhere near his place _or_ the stairs until I know that guy is gone.”

 

*

 

Steve barely slept that night. He tossed and turned in his guest bed, remembering how comfortable the one in his apartment below was, and around 4 am he finally just got up, walking over to the window. He looked up at the disassembly strip and saw Tony there, standing frightfully close to the edge and lighting a cigarette.

Steve threw on a shirt and his pajama pants without thinking. It was late and hopefully that guy was gone. Tony seemed alone up there.

Tony hadn't changed the access code to his penthouse, and the elevator doors opened onto his spacious living room. It was dirty in there – empty takeout containers and liquor bottles dotted the surfaces, and Steve spotted a couple of powdery baggies on a countertop as he headed outside. Tony's back was to him and his face was upturned towards the sky. He wore just black jeans again and there were more of those ever-present little bruises dug into the skin of his back.

“Stark,” Steve said, and he immediately thought again about such a cold greeting, but he shook off the concern. Tony turned around slowly, not startled, and he thankfully walked a few steps towards Steve, away from the edge.

“Cap,” Tony said, bringing the cigarette to his lips and taking a long drag. “I never changed that code, did I?”

“You might want to,” Steve said. “Using it in front of so many strangers and all.”

Tony smirked and looked away. “Whatever, get a fucking life -”

“The team wanted me to tell you something,” Steve said, and that seemed to get Tony's attention. “They don't want you bringing strangers here anymore. It's their home, too, and they have a say in who comes here.” Tony shook his head and started mumbling, but Steve continued on. “It's not safe, Tony, look at you – you're covered in bruises, Bruce says you're doing drugs -”

“Fuck Bruce,” Tony said, spit out. “ _Fuck that asshole_ for tellin' my fucking business, okay? Why does he care anyway – he's in _love_. Doesn't he have Rhodey's dick to suck on or something?” Steve's insides flared at that. “And fuck _all_ of you, seriously – I'm in my forties, okay, I can do drugs and fuck all the men I want. I don't need anyone's permission to get fucked up. If anybody's got a problem with it then they can move the fuck out. And that's _real_.”

Steve felt himself cracking a bit, but he held onto his composure firmly. “Don't start,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “It's bad enough that you and I don't get along, but don't start pushing the rest of us away. Those two care about you, he and Rhodey are your best friends and you're -”

“Get out,” Tony said.

“Shut up,” Steve retorted, not missing a beat, his temper flaring. Tony seemed taken aback by the display of emotion, and he went silent. “How are we _not_ supposed to have a problem with you bringing sleazebags over to beat you and fuck you?” Steve sighed and glanced around Tony's chest. He hated seeing so many different hand prints, evidence of the ever-revolving door of assholes that Tony let touch him nowadays. “What's this about? I don't remember you being into that.”

Tony held his gaze for a long moment, his grin spreading slowly. Memories were flooding back into Steve's mind, gentle hands and kisses, or sex that was rough-and-tumble because it came from a passionate place inside of them and not this pit of self-loathing that Tony seemed to be tumbling into. Was Tony thinking of the same thing?

“I've always been into that,” Tony said lightly, shrugging.

“Well, you never asked _me_ to hit you.”

Tony opened his arms, his cigarette burning down to the filter by then. “Feel free, Cap,” he said, and Steve's jaw dropped. “Go ahead, take a swing. I don't want you to feel left out.”

“Tony, what -”

“I think you're jealous,” Tony said. “You see me fucking half of the Bowery and you just want in on the action. Come on – am I still the last person you fucked?”

“That is _none_ of your fucking business,” Steve ground out, his hands in fists. “You can go straight to hell, Tony.” He was dangerously close to the edge of his composure, and he wasn't sure he had the self control to try to pull himself back from it.

“Already there, dumb-shit,” Tony said, laughing, and he looked around, slicing his arms through the air. “Look around. What do you think this place is?”

“ _What_ is going on with you?” Steve asked, his voice rough with anger and frustration. “Why are you so mad at me? I mean you don't even really have the right to be.”

Tony dropped his hands and walked right up to Steve then, only inches away from him, his breath stinking like tobacco and whiskey and another man's body. The smell made Steve feel sick, made his stomach turn. Tony needed a shower and a shave. He looked awful, like he was seconds away from falling to pieces.

“You're right, I don't,” Tony said, and he pulled out another cigarette and lit it. “I'm the one who exploited a virgin and cheated on a bombshell, both of whom now hate me -”

“I don't -”

“- so yeah, how about I finish this cigarette, do another bump, and you can hold me down and fuck me until I pass out. Choke me, shit like that. Sound good?”

“What?” It was the only thing Steve could manage to say.

“Come on, I don't even have a gag reflex anymore,” Tony said from around his cigarette, eyes sparkling but vacant. “You can fuck my throat as hard as you want, hold me down on your cock and I won't gag. Won't even puke.”

Steve let out a long breath, his face crinkling in uncovered confusion and disgust.

Steve thought he felt the cold creeping up on him but it was just the wind, gusting so hard that it nearly knocked Tony's cigarette out of his mouth. All Steve could do was shake his head and stare, just look at the man who'd _always_ been a mess, but _now_...

Tony gave a bright laugh, much too bright. He was blinking against the wind and it was making his eyes water, it seemed, because a tear rolled down his cheek. “Come on, man, I'm just joking,” Tony said, taking another drag off of his cigarette. “I'm sorry. I know you don't like it that way. You were always such a little kitten, weren't you?”

Steve watched another tear roll down Tony's cheek and he reached out and wiped it away, not thinking for a second. He immediately regretted the way his hand rested there for a moment, the way Tony turned into the touch and smiled, unguarded. Steve dropped his hand and shook his head again. Tony's skin was so warm, yet chapped and puffy under his touch. Tony was tapping his foot a bit, just grinning and winking at him.

“I can't do this,” Steve said, his head still swinging from side to side. He stilled himself and stood up straighter, determined to appear composed even if he wasn't. “I'm not coming back here anymore. Not until this is over. Not until you're back like before.” He took a step back and Tony finally stopped smiling. “I don't like you this way.”

“And I really don't fucking care,” Tony said, and he walked back inside with his cigarette. Steve's eyes followed him, surveying his battered body ( _holy shit, Tony_ ) as it headed to the couch. Tony sat down heavily and reached out for a bottle, any bottle, picking it up and taking a long swig. He looked back out to Steve on the disassembly strip and they just looked at each other for a long moment. Steve saw Tony's watery eyes and the lazy way his head moved, the way he didn't seem to focus on anything. Tony's lips were moving but Steve couldn't hear what he was saying. His face sagged like he was exhausted.

 

* * *

 

( _I'm so sleepy. I can't rest. I'm gonna have to drink until I black out again. I know I could sleep if you were there._ )

 

* * *

 

Steve felt crazy, unable to understand what had happened to Tony. He wanted to bathe him, to get him nice and clean, and he wanted to put him to bed. He wanted to feed him when he woke up and take him for a run afterward. He wanted to get his blood tested and get him a physical. He wanted this night to have never happened. He'd never wanted to know so much, to know _all of this_. He knew he was coming off the rails now, all of his progress slowly being undone by such a sight.

He went to the stairs that led to Tony and Bruce's lab, not willing to go back inside of Tony's apartment. He didn't want to walk past Tony, didn't want to be anywhere near him right now. Tony watched him walk down the stairs until he was out of sight, and Steve cut through the lab and went to the elevator there, taking it down to the garage. He got on his motorcycle and rode all the way back to Brooklyn at 4:30 am, wearing only his pajamas and slippers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chronologically, this would be the best point at which to read part two of this series: [Southern California](http://archiveofourown.org/works/844605/). The story of Bruce and Rhodey. I recommend it - it's a nice break from the angst.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Tony began to lose track of the days, of the passage of time._

Tony was working idly in the lab when Bruce checked his phone and suddenly got up from his stool, and Tony watched as he walked over to the elevator and just...stood there. The bell dinged right when Tony was about to speak, and he shot up off of his stool at the sight of Rhodey walking out and wrapping his arms around Bruce. He was still in his desert fatigues and he looked tired as hell, and Tony had to hold himself back from breaking into a sprint. Tony could hear Bruce mumbling quietly against Rhodey's mouth, saying, “I know it was short notice. Thanks for coming.” Tony ignored it and opened his arms, and he felt like Rhodey was the only thing he could see.

“Surprise,” Rhodey said into Tony's ear as they hugged, and Tony took his bags and sat them in his bedroom while his friend freshened up from the trip. Tony immediately put on a pot of coffee and began cleaning up like crazy, and Rhodey emerged from the shower to find a mountain of trashbags piled up by the stairwell door and the place looking spotless. Tony had gone to another bathroom and showered, shaved too, and he was getting dressed in the living room and watching TV when Rhodey walked in.

“Wow, you're fast,” Rhodey said, and Tony just smiled as he fastened his cufflinks.

“So, are you here for me or for Bruce?” Tony asked. “I realize I took your bags kind of presumptuously there.” Tony's face felt hot and he tried to focus on his cufflinks. He was giddy with excitement because Rhodey was there, he was standing close enough for Tony to smell him and feel the warmth of his body, and maybe he'd share the bed with him tonight, and that meant that Tony would be able to sleep.

“I came to see you,” Rhodey said. Tony kept looking at his wrists. “I'm all yours for fourteen days, I promise.”

Tony couldn't help the sigh of pure relief that escaped his lips. _Fourteen days_. Tony was going to get to sleep for two whole weeks, and the prospect alone made his throat tighten with emotion.

“How are you sleeping?” Rhodey asked, and damn it if all of Tony's resolve didn't crumble right then. He dropped his head forward onto Rhodey's shoulder, his breath gusting thick and moist into the clean cotton of his friend's shirt, the prickling in his eyes almost soothing. There was no shame when it came to Rhodey, never, but still Tony tried not to let the tears come, but some came anyway, and his friend just rubbed his back soothingly and told him that things were going to be alright.

“Stop scaring us,” Rhodey said, too.

They had cheesesteaks and beer and they watched a baseball game with the team. Tony didn't get drunk – he didn't want to, actually. He just wanted to focus on Rhodey, to be near him and remember the way things were before. Steve wasn't there, and he hadn't been there for six days (Tony _had_ _not_ been counting). Apparently he was serious about staying away. Tony hadn't told anyone about that night but he was sure they all knew – Bruce had been rather cold as of late and Clint hadn't even been trying to hide his bitterness. But they all loved Rhodey, and the tension eased as the night went on swimmingly.

Tony slept that night. He slept for the first time in what felt like a month. Rhodey let Tony wrap around him, let him bury his face in his chest and go limp in his arms. Tony didn't dream that night. They both slept for twelve hours, curled up in a mess of sheets.

 

*

 

Rhodey stayed for two weeks. For two weeks Tony ate at least twice a day, worked out, went out into the city, had fun, didn't visit the piers or the bar, avoided lower Manhattan in general, didn't do any K, didn't smoke, and slept like the dead. He watched Rhodey walk up and plop down on couches beside Bruce, then take apples or grapes out of Bruce's hands and bite them. He joined the two of them for dinner and gave them privacy whenever it was clear that it was time for a goodnight kiss. He walked into the common room to find them sitting on the couch together, side by side and reading from the same book. Eventually it began to make Tony smile.

He got caught up on baseball and work, and Clint stopped giving him the cold shoulder. The bruises on his body faded, and Rhodey made him promise he wouldn't get any more. Tony wasn't sure he could keep that promise but he made it anyway, so glad to be smiled at again. He had no idea how badly he'd missed a kind touch and the adoration of a loved one, and he didn't want to lose it. Sometimes Rhodey slept in Bruce's room and that was fine with Tony; he was comforted just by the knowledge that his friend was near. After a week, The Troys had started texting the burner phone that he used for his sleazier contacts, all claiming to miss him, and he put the phone in the bottom of his sock drawer on silent.

 

On Rhodey's last night in town they all went bowling. Tony wasn't sure why they were all so insistent on bowling in Brooklyn, but he should have known. Rhodey and Steve were friends for some crazy reason, and of course he'd want to see his friend while he was in town. Tony was getting his shoes when Steve walked in, tall and fucking gorgeous and hugging everyone but him. Tony sat with Bruce while Rhodey chatted with Steve, their conversation rich and seemingly never-ending. Tony asked if Clint wanted a drink and he said no, so Tony got up and went to the bar and got the beer with the highest alcohol content they had. Steel Reserve 211, the nastiest shit he'd ever tasted, but it was like 12% ABV. That would do, he supposed.

He turned to face the lanes and Rhodey was at his elbow, his face hard. “Tony.”

“I'm only gonna have one,” Tony said, but he was already halfway through it.

“We've had a great two weeks, man. Take it easy.”

“Take _what_ easy?” He knew he sounded condescending, and maybe he was doing it on purpose. He felt itchy suddenly. “It's just one fucking beer, alright? I've had more than that since you've been here.” Steve's laugh bellowed over the music for a moment and Tony sat up straighter, his senses taught like a piano wire. “Shit.” He turned his beer up and finished it in seconds.

“You can handle this without alcohol,” Rhodey said. “You don't have to get shitty just because he's in the room. As a matter of fact, I think he'd be a lot more impressed if you _didn't_.” Tony tried to make his face looked shocked, but he knew it wasn't working. “Come on, man, I know what all of this is about.” Tony looked past Rhodey to the team, who were tying their shoes on and using up all the practice frames. “Let's just enjoy my last night here, okay?”

Tony felt Rhodey's hand on his arm and he slid off of his stool to slope forward, placing his chin on Rhodey's shoulder. “I'm a piece of shit,” Tony said.

Rhodey didn't respond, but then again he didn't have to when he just took Tony around the shoulders and slowly led him back to the lanes. “Let's bowl,” he whispered, but to Tony it sounded more like _stop scaring us_.

 

Tony didn't drink anymore, and he and Steve didn't speak through both games. Never even made eye contact. That night after Rhodey fell asleep, Tony snuck onto the strip and had a cigarette.

 

*

 

It was three in the morning. Rhodey had left that evening to spend the rest of his short time on leave with Bruce – they were going to South Philly for a few days to visit's Rhodey's mother, and then to one of Tony's many vacation homes in upstate New York. Tony was still awake and sitting on his couch. He was exhausted, absolutely exhausted, but he couldn't fall asleep. He hadn't had a nightmare in fourteen days and he knew it was because he'd had something solid to hold on to in his sleep, something tangible and familiar. He'd allowed himself three scotches over the course of the night, a pittance for him, and he had found his burner phone and was holding it, just reading all the texts that said the same thing (“ _miss u_ _papi_ ”), looking through all the pictures they'd sent him (nothing but cocks and sloppy assholes).

He kept drinking. He wouldn't go. He promised Rhodey he wouldn't go back. He promised everyone. He stayed home, and he drank until he passed out.

 

*

 

Two more weeks passed and Steve still hadn't been back to Stark Tower. The others had started going to Brooklyn to visit him, Bruce and Thor for bowling and Natasha and Clint for rummy at the bar. All of them for movies or roller derby or dancing, at which Tony heard that Steve was excelling. No one ever asked Tony about his blowout with Steve or got angry with him like he thought they would; they just let it be, as if they understood. No one ever invited him to join them, either. They'd all just congregate in the common area in civilian clothes, clearly gathering to go somewhere where Tony wasn't welcome.

He didn't like spending nights alone. He thought they fucking knew that.

It didn't bother him at first, but it didn't take him long to start to unravel after Rhodey left. Sitting in his huge, empty apartment with just JARVIS for company, watching _Martin_ until he got sick of it. He did good at ignoring the bar in his penthouse at first, but the days passed, three scotches turned into five, which turned into half a bottle, which turned into Tony holding his burner phone and reading through the text messages ( _miss u_ _papi_ ) and looking at the pictures (cocks and assholes).

And then the phone beeped in his hand. New message. _where u? i luv u_ _daddy_ _, plz come fuck n suck all of us. we r waitin_. Troy the Fifth.

 

_Pier or bar?_

_Bar_

 

*

 

Tony began to lose track of the days, of the passage of time.

 

* * *

 

It was one in the morning before everyone had finally shuffled out of Steve's apartment and into an SUV driven by Happy. They'd started calling it “Coffee Cake Sundays,” these long late lunches where they'd eat and watch _Martin_ and _Sienfeld_ , Steve's favorite shows. Everyone had been there since the afternoon, eating and drinking lazily and taking naps and playing cards. For a month Steve had held onto his resolution to not step foot back into Stark Tower until Tony straightened up, and even though they all claimed Tony was doing better now, he still couldn't imagine facing the son of a bitch.

He was back there again, calling Tony a sleazebag and an asshole in order to kill the worry that always filled his head, the unrelenting concern that Tony was being raped or murdered by a stranger at the pier. Rhodey had told Steve all about the piers and that horrible bar, about sex acts that Steve didn't even think were real. And here was Tony participating in them, loving them even, almost as if the Tony that Steve had fallen in love with had never been real himself.

Steve could admit that to himself now. He had been head-over-heels in love with Tony.

Everyone had cleaned up so there was nothing for Steve to do after they left. His apartment still smelled rich like beef and green beans and cinnamon and frosting, and he sat down to enjoy such a comfort. He still felt a little restless and he thought of calling someone from his team, but then he'd be expected to come over for a late-night hang out at the tower, and he couldn't do that just yet. He had to stick to his resolve if he was ever going to get Tony out of his system. The son of a bitch sure knew how to weasel himself back in after so long, too. Apparently he'd been disappearing at night again, but at least he wasn't bringing people home anymore. Steve tried not to care, and he'd almost gotten there until he saw Tony out there on the disassembly strip, battered and smoking and staring at the black sky.

He got a text suddenly, the vibration in his pocket startling him. It was from Clint. _Tony is not here. J won't give up his location. Is he at your place?_

Steve wanted to ask why the hell would Tony be at his place, but it made sense to ask. Steve replied with _Try the pier._ Clint's response: _Not funny._

Rhodey had told him the name of that bar but he couldn't remember it anymore. Something simple and obvious. The Baths? Splash? Backstreet? He mentioned that Tony liked the bar best because he could always find The Troys there. That's probably where he was, but Steve had thought that Tony was doing better. That's what everyone was saying.

 

*

 

Steve was awakened at 5:43 am by a text message. He ran a hand over his face and looked to see that the sky was still black, his other hand fishing at his bedside table all the while. Eventually he found his phone and picked it up, seeing that it was from a number he didn't know, which was odd. He swiped at the screen and he immediately dropped his phone, looking away.

Steve couldn't breathe. He couldn't fucking breathe. He glanced down in his lap at the picture he had been sent and he forced out a breath, anger now overriding his shock. It was a picture of Tony, obviously taken by someone else – he was kneeling in front of a gloryhole with an anonymous cock deep in his mouth, his face already smeared with come, a stranger's hand fisted in his hair and pushing his face hard into the disembodied penis. Someone behind him was flipping the camera off, and so was Tony.

Steve remembered the name of the bar now, and he had a car.

 

“Sorry, we're closed -”

“I _know_ he's in there. Bring him out or I'm calling the police.”

“Fuck you, man. What for?”

“Because he's out of his mind on drugs and liquor, and I know that having people in there after hours is illegal.” Steve stared down the giant, hairy man at the door, who eventually looked away.

“You have sixty seconds to get him out here or _I'm_ going in,” Steve said. “And trust me, you don't want that.”

The bouncer huffed. “Why not, apple pie?”

“Because I will beat the shit out of anyone I see touching him.”

The bouncer didn't hesitate to pull out a two-way radio. “Bring Stark out,” he said. “His boyfriend's here and he's pissed.” Steve sneered at that.

“ _Invite him in_ ,” came the response.

“Seriously, just get Stark out here because I'm pretty sure this guy wants to kill me.”

Twelve seconds later, Tony was being shoved out of the front door by someone who didn't follow. He was pulling a shirt on sloppily, not buttoning it closed, and shivering even though it was warm out – but at least his face was fairly clean. Tony blinked up at the sky, now starting to pale with the morning light, and then he spotted Steve – or he didn't, actually, he sort of looked _through_ him, his eyes wandering up and down the street and across the buildings around them. Tony blinked lazily and Steve took a step forward, resting a hand on his shoulder. Tony finally looked at him, focused on his face and _saw_ him. His eyes went hard at first and it looked like he stood up a bit straighter, angry – or maybe just scared, but his bravado left as quickly as it came when his shoulders slumped and his eyes softened, melting at their corners, his lips opening with a silent plea.

“Let's go to bed,” Tony eventually said, his tone light but his voice thick. “I'm tired.”

Steve nodded.

 

The ride back to the tower was mostly quiet. Tony lay slumped in Steve's passenger seat, breathing hard and pinching at his skin periodically, for what reason Steve didn't know. Morning traffic was starting to pick up so the ride wasn't as quick as it could have been, which left Steve entirely too much time to sit at red lights and catalog the bruises and scrapes on Tony's body, to pick out the smells on him as cigarettes and weed and hand soap and sweat. He hated it; all these men touching Tony, abusing him, hurting him, even if they were doing it with Tony's permission.

“Stop staring at me,” Tony said. His first words since the sidewalk.

“Sorry,” Steve said. “I can't help it. I thought you were doing better. Everyone said -”

“They don't know jack shit. Fuckers don't ever see me, don't hang out with me -”

“By no fault of their own. You're _still_ part of this team and you can -”

“Not when it's you versus me. Not when they have to choose.”

Steve looked over at him, puzzled. “What do you mean? Tony, we're all friends, okay? We can _all_ hang out together. That's never a problem.”

Tony was grinning at him now. “We're not friends.”

They were at an intersection so Steve turned to him, just glaring at such a ridiculous suggestion.

“You and me,” Tony said, chewing his lip between words. “We're not friends, Steve.”

“Shut up, Tony, of course we are -”

“No, we're not,” he continued, shaking his head, his eyes welling with tears. “You said so. When you moved out of the tower last year and I called you my friend and you told me what a shitty person I was and then you said, 'We are not friends.'”

Steve was puzzled for only a second before the memory hit him like a punch in the face: Tony standing in the foyer of his old apartment begging him not to move out, asking repeatedly if they were okay, Tony saying, _It wasn't easy for me, you know._

And then he remembered their argument days before that, when he called Tony a son of a bitch and asked if he had any kind of a heart at all. He had been chin-deep in his own anger and the feeling of betrayal made him want to hurt Tony for hurting him, and how about that – he'd done it. Steve had always known this, but looking at the pile of scarred skin and bones in his passenger seat, he was reminded that hurting people was always more fun in theory than in practice.

“Tony,” Steve began, but he stopped talking at the sloppy way Tony waved him off. No one spoke for the rest of the ride back to the tower. Steve just kept looking at Tony, watching as completely silent tears cut clean tracts across his ruddy face. Steve's face burned with shame as he parked the car, and Tony still didn't shy away from his glance. So he walked around to the passenger seat and opened the door for Tony, placing Tony's arm over his shoulders and wrapping his own around Tony's battered waist. He lifted Tony out of the seat to see a cheap cell phone sitting there and he pocketed it quietly before leading Tony off to head upstairs. Steve tried to avoid any tender spots but if he was hurting Tony he didn't say anything – he just slumped into Steve's side and let himself be dragged into the elevator.

Steve pressed the button for Tony's penthouse and leaned back against the cool metal wall, letting Tony slump against his chest, forehead against his neck. Tony stunk and he was drooling on Steve's collar, but maybe this was what he needed. Maybe Tony needed a kind touch. Maybe Steve wanted to give him a kind touch. Steve let one hand move up to rub soothing circles between Tony's shoulders and he felt a long sigh gust into his shirt, followed by a slight tremble. He felt Tony's fingertips at his sides, but then they fell. There was more wetness at Steve's neck, hot and thinner than spit, burning a path down his skin. Steve closed his eyes and brought his other hand up to Tony's hair, allowing himself to let go for a moment ( _just for the elevator ride_ ). They stayed that way for the almost hundred-floor trip, Tony boneless against Steve's solid form.

They got to the penthouse and Steve entered the code, and he was surprised when he was let in. ( _Thought you were gonna change that, champ._ ) Steve wrapped his other arm around Tony's waist and hugged their bodies together, walking backwards and pulling most of the man's body weight down the hallway to his bedroom. Tony wrapped an arm around Steve's neck and let his head fall on his shoulder, and he could feel Tony's lashes fluttering on his skin. Steve felt himself blush at the memories that such an innocent touch could conjure up in him, memories that he'd worked hard to forget. They paused at Tony's bedroom door as Steve pushed it open, and he let his chin rest on top of Tony's head. He could smell Tony's breath, stinking like whiskey and strange dick and filling the air all around them as he huffed drunkenly. He continued dragging Tony into the room, their positions shifting as they walked together, Steve's chin now resting against the soft skin of Tony's temple, lips brushing his hairline.

Steve lowered Tony onto the bed and then removed his shoes for him before lifting his feet onto the bed as well. He went to the bathroom and wet a hand towel, then returned to take a seat on the edge of the bed. He carefully wiped Tony's face and neck clean, to which Tony responded by doing nothing more than just turning into Steve's touch. Steve rinsed the towel and came back, and this time he cleaned Tony's hands, taking each one between his own two and scrubbing them thoroughly, making ruddy skin glow warm and pink again. He finished one hand and then went to the other, working the towel between each finger and into the folds of skin at Tony's wrists.

Steve realized Tony was looking at him, his eyes barely open, and he put on a small smile. He knew it probably looked weak and forced, but then again, that's exactly what it was. Tony managed the smallest smile back, and there was nothing natural about it. Tony's eyes darted around for a moment.

“I'm in my bed,” Tony slurred. Steve nodded. “You brought me.” Steve nodded again, still cleaning Tony's hand gently. “Are you my friend, Steve?”

And that was it. It was over for him, he knew it. A year was no time at all; all his work meant nothing. Steve didn't have a fucking chance against what was before him.

He dropped the towel on the floor and took Tony's hand again, holding it firmly. “Christ, Tony, of course I'm your friend,” he said quietly, taking comfort in the tiny nod Tony gave in response. “When I said that I was really upset, okay? You lied to me, you know, you broke my heart and I” - Steve paused for a moment but Tony was just watching him, just listening - “I just wanted to hurt you, too. And I'm sorry about that.” No more games, no more bullshit. “I love you, Tony – I got outta bed and I drove to all the way from Bensonhurst at six in the morning for you. You _are_ my friend, okay, and I don't like seeing those guys hurting you. I wouldn't have anything to say about your sex life if not for your circumstances right now. You say you like it but it doesn't come from the right place, and you know it. You _don't_ deserve this.”

Steve gave Tony's hand a slight pull, coaxing the man to sit up, and Tony almost immediately fell forward onto him, hugging Steve weakly. “You're my friend, Tony. All that other shit – our past doesn't matter anymore, okay? It's over, it's forgiven.” He felt Tony nod against his shoulder, his body shivering with what Steve knew were silent tears. “I will always be your friend.” He wrapped his arms tight around Tony, feeling the drunk man literally deflate in his embrace, his body wracked with quiet sobs.

 

Steve laid down on a futon in Tony's bedroom, where Rhodey used to sleep before Tony's anxiety attacks started. Tony was facing him in the bed, laying there quietly but with his eyes open. Every now and then they would drift closed and then snap back open, finding Steve immediately in the dark.

“I'm not leaving,” Steve said, his voice low as to not shatter the stillness they'd finally found. Tony nodded, and finally he let himself fall asleep. Neither one of them dreamed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _when you're falling apart_   
>  _I pick up each piece and_   
>  _build a wall around your dream_

Steve glanced from the hallway, where he stood, into Tony's bedroom. Tony was still out like a light, snoring, the sound probably intensified by the damage done to his lungs. In Steve's hand was a cell phone, an off-the-rack prepaid thing that was too low-tech for anyone to assume it would belong to Tony Stark.

Steve looked through the pictures. The ones that had been sent to Tony were disgusting – people having sex outdoors, erections, men's rear-ends covered in semen – their faces, too. Steve was glad not to find any like that of Tony, and then he went to look at the pictures that Tony had taken himself. Steve was surprised to find almost all of them to be pictures of smiling faces, youthful-looking men undressed or sometimes fully clothed, but always just smiling, waving, posing with a drink, or kissing Tony's cheek. Self-taken photos of Tony and these boys, Tony's face pressed into their necks and their mouths wide open, laughter frozen in time.

The last photo was the one Tony sent to Steve that morning. ( _He still has my number._ ) He checked Tony's sent messages, and he was glad to see that Tony hadn't sent the photo to anyone else. Steve cracked open the back of the phone and removed the battery, then removed the SIM card as well. He walked away from Tony's room a bit, then said, “JARVIS, where do I take a cell phone to be destroyed? Like, incinerated?”

The AI directed Steve to a hazardous waste chute located in Tony and Bruce's lab, a chute that the AI swore up and down led straight to the building's trash incinerator. Steve tossed the phone, battery, and SIM card down the chute without fanfare or hesitation, and then he pulled out his own phone and deleted that message from Tony, effectively erasing that photo from history.

Steve went back to Tony's place. It was only ten in the morning and Steve hadn't slept much at all. He went to Tony's bedroom and took off his shoes and his belt, and he thought of the picture of Tony kissing that boy's neck, and he could imagine Tony trashed and wandering the bushes and the bars, holding hands with strangers, kissing their lips.

He thought of his apartment downstairs, probably covered in dust by now, and he shook his head. Bad idea, right?

 ( _Right?_ )

Now wasn't the time for being honest with himself. He mostly just felt like sleeping. Steve lay down on the bed beside Tony and the man didn't stir at all – perhaps his body had finally had enough. Steve watched him for a while, just listened to Tony breath and watched him shift a bit closer in his sleep. He reached across the covers and took Tony's hand, and he still didn't stir. It didn't take long for Steve to fall asleep, too.

 

* * *

 

 

Tony swung his legs off of the bed and drug the trash can over all in one motion, and he vomited the second the waste bin was between his feet. He looked up at the unoccupied futon across the room and another wretch of his stomach heaved him forward, making him drop his head and puke into the basket. Last night had been too much. Of everything. Too many bumps, too many drinks, too many cigarettes, too much cocksucking, too much fucking...Tony's entire body was sore, aching and begging him _please let me rest_. And then the end of the night...Tony buried his face in his hands. He was humiliated, but then again that happened so often nowadays that it was starting to lose its effect. He didn't remember the entire night, but he'd never forget the end of it, his brain shocked sober by the sight of Steve but his body worthless with liquor and ketamine. Loathing crept in as he remembered Steve's face, his giant eyes in the morning light, his expression slack and open as though he were too horrified to be angry.

It was three in the afternoon. If he were Steve, he would have left, too.

Tony went to the bathroom and showered, brushing his teeth in there while he let his conditioner set. His head pounded and he still felt too nauseous to eat or drink anything, but he was starving and thirsty. He hated being hungover. He never wanted to feel this way again. He got out of the shower and toweled off, then threw on a t-shirt and pants. He was glad to be alone right then, to not have to face any of his friends after breaking his promise to them. He understood why they'd rather go to Brooklyn than watch him flail about in his PTSD. He didn't blame them at all.

He walked into the living room and froze. The television was on and it smelled like coffee in there. He looked out to the disassembly strip and saw Steve standing there on his cell phone, nodding and grinning the slightest bit. Tony felt like screaming and crying all at once – he wasn't sure that he could face Steve right then, that he could address what he was sure would be Steve's shock and disgust at having finally seen the life Tony was living nowadays. Tony took a seat on the couch and ignored the television, just stared at Steve out there on the strip, his heart thumping in his chest.

Steve hung up and headed back inside, and he spotted Tony when he was entering. Steve's smile was a bit shocked and maybe a little shy, but it was definitely sincere. Tony could see that.

“Hey,” Steve said, heading to the coffeemaker. “Feel good enough for a cup of coffee?”

Tony's stomach roiled in protest. “Sure, thanks.”

Steve was already pouring a cup for him, and he walked it over quietly. He sat down beside Tony and handed him his coffee, watching with approval as Tony took a sip. Tony's stomach clenched and then relaxed around the hot beverage. It was surprisingly soothing.

“Why are you still here?” Tony asked.

“I told you I wasn't leaving,” Steve said.

 

That evening, Steve broke with tradition and served coffee cake on a Monday. It was almost as if it was Christmas or something, the way people emerged from here and there, smiling at the smell of cinnamon and vanilla.

“I get to eat this twice in twenty-four hours,” Clint said, his tone almost reverent and he picked up a saucer. “I must be dreaming.”

Tony hadn't been on the communal floor since Troy the Eighth interrupted movie night, and he felt silly for marveling at a part of his own home. “Hey stranger,” Natasha mumbled to him with a smile over her coffee, and Clint kept his arm around Tony's shoulders while he served them both slices of cake. Thor invited Tony to spar for old time's sake - “Baby steps,” Tony responded with a smile, and the conversation was light, unforced, showing signs of potential to return to the way it used to be.

 

Tony went to the lab after cake and had Bruce take a blood draw.

“I'm sorry I didn't notice that my best friends were in love with each other,” Tony said as Bruce worked, and Bruce didn't look up as he took Tony's blood, just laughed with an ease that Tony didn't realize he'd missed.

“Apology accepted,” Bruce said. “I'll let Jim know.” Bruce removed the needle from Tony's arm and handed him some gauze before walking to sit on a stool at a nearby table.

“What are we checking for?” Bruce asked as he labeled the sample.

“All of the above,” Tony said as he pressed gauze into the crook of his arm. “Communicable diseases, STDs, shit like that.” Bruce paused for a moment before nodding, his serene expression coming across horribly forced. “I can't act like I was safe all the time.”

“Okay,” Bruce responded gently, possibly not knowing what else to say. “I'll have the results for you in a few days. Hey, I was also thinking we should put you on a juice fast” - and he ignored Tony's sneer - “you know, do a cleanse, let your body detox from all that nicotine and...other stuff.”

Tony continued to sneer, but when Bruce put it _that_ way... “Fine. Just...in a week or two. I want a cheesesteak first.” Tony wrapped a dressing around the gauze himself, grumbling all the while. “I guess I deserve it for being such a mess.”

“Don't talk like that,” Bruce said, his tone still gentle. “Ever again. You know, it's...you shouldn't be so hard on yourself. I mean that's kinda how this all got started in the first place, right?”

Tony couldn't help but laugh, just the tiniest bit.

 

*

 

Tony had to find something to do with himself at night. His body was exhausted, unable to bear being drunk again after a months-long bender, and ketamine didn't feel good in a way that made him want to sit around and do it alone. So for days he'd been effectively sober, and a side effect of having a clear head was being able to think.

Tony realized that he hated being alone. Absolutely fucking hated it to the point of fearing it. He hated himself, too, and he knew where it all came from ( _emotionally distant parents make for loneliness and a need to be loved, which makes for a slutty teenager, which makes for a slutty adult, which makes for a grown man with no self esteem who hates himself so much that he binges on the sleaziest sex available in New York after being dumped by not one, but two of the most amazing people in the world_ ) but he didn't feel like dealing with that just yet – mostly, he just wanted to sleep.

The first week he used two fingers of Martin Mills, 10 mg melatonin, 10 mg passion flower, and 50 mg valerian to help him sleep, and it worked for the most part. The Martin Mills was 24 years old and so expensive that he couldn't bring himself to guzzle it, and his body wasn't used to healthy things so it devoured the herbs, and he would pass out on his couch every night by midnight. The melatonin gave him wild dreams bordering on the terrifying, so he wasn't sure about the trade-off. He felt like he was back in the same place as he was months ago, but he wouldn't make the same shitty mistake he made before. Maybe he needed to square some things away, make some amends and feel more at peace with himself. He hadn't spoken to Pepper about anything that wasn't business-related since they got back on speaking terms, and he wondered if she knew what a mess he'd been as of late.

 

“Of course I knew,” Pepper said over her champagne, and she waved off the waiter's offer of complimentary croissants. “And don't think that meant I wasn't concerned or anything,” she added quickly, her eyes serious. “I wasn't sure if I was a trigger for you or something, and...it's just – Tony, I love you, I really do. I just...you come first in _every_ aspect of my life and I just want something for myself. You know?”

Tony nodded and tried to smile. It still hurt. He wished it didn't, but it did. “I get it.”

She smiled shyly, meekly almost. “You hate me, right?”

“Of course not,” he responded, and he meant it. “How could I? _I'm_ the one that cheated on you. I don't have any reason to hate either one of you. If anything, _you_ should hate _me_.”

This seemed to relieve Pepper in a way, and she sat up to grab Tony's croissant and pinch off a piece. “Maybe, but I don't,” she said around a mouthful of bread. “Speaking of people who _don't_ hate you...have you seen him lately?”

Underneath the table, Tony was gripping his knee. “Yeah,” he said, trying to sound casual. “He gave me a ride home the other day...Happy Hour got a little too happy.”

Pepper smiled, but her eyes were grave. “I heard you were kinda livin' in Happy Hour full-time as of late.”

“Yeah, well,” Tony said, and he swigged his beer, not continuing.

Pepper chuckled, a gesture of annoyance coming from her, and she turned up the rest of her champagne. “You know, that boy actually _really_ liked you,” she said, her eyes narrowing in an I-can't-believe-you-sometimes-Tony fashion. “Why do you think he got so pissed? Moved out?”

“Because I treated him like a piece of meat.”

“Well, yeah, but -”

Tony's face was red, he just knew it. “Pepper, please, can we _not_ -”

“See – there. That right _there_.” She was holding her empty flute and stabbing a finger at him with the same hand, as uninhibited around him as ever. “ _That's_ your problem. That's what all that shit was – scaring your friends, putting yourself at risk with all these strangers – you're not afraid to fly a nuke into a wormhole, but you're gonna be fifty soon and you still can't deal with your personal problems, even if it's just a jilted ex that you still have the hots for.”

“He's not really my ex -”

“Shut up, Tony, he is _so_ your ex.”

Pepper shrugged in her I-told-you-so manner and Tony was preparing to deny having the hots for Steve, but then he realized something. “Wait, wait – how do you know about The Troys? How'd you find out about our affair anyway?”

Pepper was holding her flute up to a waiter, who was refilling it. “I overheard some guy talking about it on the Helicarrier,” she said with a bitter shake of her head. “I was in medical and these two guys were all 'Stark fucked Captain America,' and I thought it was bullshit at first, but then I started thinking, remembering little things.” She shrugged harshly and shook her head.

Tony sneered. “I bet it was that Galaga asshole.”

“Who? Whatever. It's over,” Pepper said, entirely too casual. “Steve's the one who told me about The Troys. And seriously – ketamine? Jesus, Tony, is it 1997?” Tony had to cover his face for a moment. “Don't _do_ that – don't be all 'I can't believe people talk about me' – of course people talk about you. You've had us all worried sick for months now. I just don't have the energy to deal with it anymore, but I'm willing to bet that Steve does.”

Tony wished he could manage to sneer lovingly at her. “So how long have you two been besties?” he asked.

“I wouldn't describe it that way,” she responded. “He called me one day after he found you wasted on the disassembly strip. You were saying some scary stuff and he wanted to know if he should be worried about you. I said yes.” She shrugged again, taking a sip of her drink. “We talk some, lunch every now and then. I can tell that he cares about you.”

Tony remembered that night – he'd invited Steve to hit him, to choke him and slap him and all kinds of horrible shit that he'd only said to shock the kid into going away. And it had worked. Almost too well.

“I'm pretty sure I've reached the point of no return with Steve,” Tony said.

“Not true,” Pepper responded, almost stepping on his words. “Just apologize, start over.”

“I mean he came and got me the other night so I know he cares, but -”

“Yes he does.”

“You keep interrupting me -”

“Because you're saying the same thing! Over and over again. 'Nobody likes me, everybody hates me' – come _on_ ,” she said, and then she reached across the table to rest a hand on his. “You are loved, Tony. You are _so_ loved. Just...you know, get on board, get into what's lovable about you. Stop beating yourself up, accept love, and give it in return. You deserve it.”

 

*

 

( _Just apologize. Start over._ )

 “I'm sorry.”

Steve looked up from his tablet at Tony, who was sitting in a chair across from him. The sky outside faded from blue to pink and orange at the horizon, evening fast approaching. Steve was on the couch and they'd been silent for a while now, just letting Tony's favorite summer music play – stuff from college like Sade and Maze, songs that he'd play when he'd take Rhodey yachting from Mauritius to the Maldives during summer break. All Tony wanted to think about nowadays were times passed. How things used to be.

Steve didn't say anything. He nodded in acknowledgment of Tony's apology, then just sat silently. _Diamond Life_ was playing now, and it was on his and Rhodey's favorite song, the secret anthem that no one except Pepper knew they had.

  _when you're falling apart_  
 _I pick up each piece and_  
 _build a wall around your dream_

  _the punches to your heart_  
 _melt away when you_  
 _never thought they'd heal_

 Tony took a deep breath. This was a year overdue. “I'm sorry that I never apologized for hurting you, and I'm especially sorry for running you away from your home. Whatever you thought about me was probably right, Steve – I went into the whole thing with tunnel vision and guns blazing, and I was just being really selfish. I tried to cover my ass by acting flippant about the whole thing, and I know I said some stuff that probably made it seem like you meant less to me than you actually did.”

Steve put his tablet down, still quiet, but now his face seemed strained, nervous. His throat worked as he swallowed and nodded again, wiping his hands on his pants.

“I never thought of you as a whore,” Tony said. “I never meant to make you feel cheap or like I didn't care, because I did. I mean I really did. Seriously, you were _so_ fucking precious to me but by that point there was no way to fix it without hurting _some_ body. And it ended up being all three of us.” ( _Never shoulda done it in the first place._ ) “And I'm so sorry. I'm just incredibly sorry.”

“Thank you,” Steve said finally – he was smiling gently, but Tony couldn't read what that meant. “It means a lot, really.”

“And I really wanna thank you for coming to get me that day,” Tony continued, ignoring the way Steve waved him off. “I'm _really_ sorry about that picture” - Tony winced and punched his leg, the humiliation overwhelming him for a moment - “That was just...I can't believe you actually still came to get me after seeing that. I'm glad you did. I think I was probably minutes from passing out.”

“Of course I came to get you out of there,” Steve said. “You're my friend, okay?” That word. It made Tony's heart skip a beat. “I couldn't bear it, seeing you like that, knowing those guys were...I just don't understand why you keep doing it.”

“Because it feels better,” Tony said.

“Than what?”

“Everything else.”

Tony's eyes went vacant, drifting away from Steve's, and he tried to blink away the thoughts that were rushing into him, the craving for a drink, the ridiculous idea that he offer Steve a blowjob just to prove his worth. Tony was still trying as Steve put an arm up on the back of the couch and beckoned to him, then pointed to the space he'd created beside him. Tony felt a little silly but he heeded the gentle command silently, walking over and gladly slumping into Steve's side, smelling him and pressing his face into the soft cotton of Steve's shirt. That alone made him feel calm, still, and he just lay there. The record had changed – _Joy and Pain_ was playing now, the whole album actually, and Tony grinned at the total lack of irony there. Steve turned his head a bit and let his chin rest against Tony's forehead, and for a moment they just listened to Frankie Beverly sing.

_Over and over you can be sure_  
 _There will be sorrow but you will endure_

  _Always hurting each other_  
 _If it ain't one thing, it's another_

 When someone finally spoke it was Steve, his breath making Tony's hair rustle around like grass in the wind. “I know you promised the others when Rhodey visited,” Steve said quietly, “but I want you to promise me, too. I want you to mean it.”

Tony had his arms wrapped around himself as he rested against Steve, and he let the knuckles of one hand strum Steve's ribs lightly. “I'm sure I'll mean it,” he responded. “But I won't keep it. I can't. I'll just disappoint you again.”

“What would it take for you to be able to keep that promise?”

( _What a loaded fucking question_.) “I can't sleep,” Tony said, and admitting this to Steve threatened to make him unravel, but he kept his composure. “I can only sleep if Rhodey's here. Or, honestly...if you're here. The dreams are fucking horrible and all the smoking hasn't helped me manage my hyperventilating at all.”

Steve stayed quiet for a moment. His hand was drawing circles on Tony's arm, his eyes aimed outside at the sunset. “Okay,” Steve said, and then he nodded almost as if the gesture was only for himself. “I'll talk to Rhodey and we'll figure something out for the long run, but I'll stay here tonight. With you. Okay?” He turned and looked at Tony then, his face washed with the now red and gold of the sunset, and Tony nodded. He'd spent a year looking at Steve from across rooms and through glass doors, but now he was inches from him, smelling the kiwi on his breath, watching the downy hairs on his face glow in the light. “Now promise me, and mean it.”

Tony wanted to kiss Steve. Tony wanted to promise him everything. He wouldn't. He didn't.

“No bar,” Tony said. “No pier, no ketamine, no smoking, and _definitely_ no Troys. I promise.” Tony meant it.

He heard Steve let out a sharp sigh, and he turned to press his lips to Tony's forehead, not kissing him, just breathing him in, touching him as if he couldn't believe Tony was actually there.

 

*

 

Tony found Steve already asleep when he emerged from the bathroom, and he was in the bed and _not_ on the futon that Tony had let out before showering. Steve's tablet lay on the bed and he was turned onto his side, hugging a pillow and fast asleep. Tony looked at the futon and then back to Steve, and then he realized he was being presumptuous in exactly the wrong way. Steve wouldn't have climbed into Tony's bed just to kick him out of it.

So Tony put in the retainer that only Steve, Pepper, and Rhodey knew he still had to wear, and he climbed in beside the heavy body that had his entire room smelling like home. Tony put the tablet on the bedside table and hit the light, which woke Steve up. Tony tried to smile in the darkness but he was sure Steve didn't see it. Or maybe he did, because Steve held out his hand to Tony in a wordless invitation. Tony scooted close and let Steve's arm rest across his chest, their heads sharing the pillow and Steve's nose rubbing gently at Tony's temple. He closed his eyes.

The next morning, waking up in Steve's embrace, Tony would be surprised at how quickly and easily he'd fallen asleep. He didn't even dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The two songs mentioned are "I Will Be Your Friend" by Sade and "Joy and Pain" by Frankie Beverly & Maze.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _(This is the least I can do to comfort him, to show him I always cared.)_

“Well, it's not a _bad_ idea.”

Steve sat down on the couch and looked out of the floor-to-ceiling windows of his old apartment. He was at the tower today but most of the others were busy, so he thought he'd do a little dusting at his old place. Why not? It gave him something to do. Not like he intended to move back in or anything. Right?

“I don't know,” he said into the phone, ignoring Pepper's tsking. “He's a mess, Pepper, seriously.”

“Yeah, because he thinks everyone hates him,” Pepper said. “Specifically, you. I know Tony – he gets pissed at himself and acts out, puts himself in harm's way. He feels guilty and he's punishing himself.”

“I don't hate him, I told him so,” Steve said, and then there was a pregnant pause before he continued. “Actually I told him I love him.” Steve laughed, feeling stupid.

“When?”

“When I picked him up from that bar at six am. You shoulda seen him. He probably doesn't remember it, he was so trashed.”

“I bet he _does_ , actually. Did you mean it?”

“Of course.”

“ _How_ did you mean it?”

Steve sighed. “Not sure.”

He could hear Pepper smiling through the phone. “Go for it,” she said, and Steve just shook his head though she couldn't see it.

“I don't think that's a good idea,” Steve said. “Isn't that like going from one dependency to another?”

“Tony's not an addict,” Pepper said. “Well...he _is_ an alcoholic, but I've seen that before and this is him acting out. He's got that Marilyn Monroe thing about him, too. He doesn't love himself, he – it's like he has to get that emotion from other people, and he thinks people will only love him if they're fucking him. When he's single, it's like it's the only way he can get that feeling. And this time around, he's added a bit of a twist to it.” There was a pause, and Pepper's voice was gentle when she continued. “I had lunch with him a few days ago. He thinks he's reached the point of no return with you. Has he?”

“No, no,” Steve said. “I just...I already had to learn the hard way that Tony likes to play it fast and loose. I'm just not sure if I wanna throw myself to the wolves again.”

 

Their conversation ended soon after and Steve took down the glasses hanging over the island to wash the dust off of them. Steve tried not to think, but the things he _did_ think about weren't that bad, and that didn't help his situation at all. That morning had been rather horrible when it was all going down, but what Steve remembered most about it was the fact that he had touched Tony – had finally lain a hand on him, standing outside that shithole bar in the Village in the barely-there dusk of another smelly Manhattan morning. He'd spent days thinking Tony was dead and months watching him from yards away – and yeah, he'd touched his face that one time, but being able to hold Tony close, to find his scent beneath all the other putrid smells that had been on him...and now they had shared the bed again...it wasn't supposed to be happening this way.

He had this fantasy of the way this was all supposed to work out: okay so Tony lied to him, they ended their thing, and now Steve was supposed to strike out on his own and go through suitor after suitor, all of whom would blow Tony's amazingness out of the water. He was supposed to be dating a new person every few months, going out and breaking hearts and laughing loudly whenever Tony was around. He was supposed to hate Pepper, was supposed to see her as a threat. But here he was talking on the phone with her and sometimes eating sandwiches with her in her New York office.  He _couldn't_ hate her - she hadn't done anything to him, and besides, they only ever talked about Tony. And here he was right now in the apartment he'd left, washing the dishes like he still lived there.

“Hey.”

Steve looked up to see Tony walking over from the elevator, and he could tell that Tony was trying to restrain his smile.

“JARVIS told me you were in here,” he said, and he walked up and stood rather nervously at Steve's side. “So...washing dishes?”

“Yeah, it's real dusty in here,” Steve said, trying to remain casual. “Hey, why was this place all sealed up? Had to disable it with my thumbprint.”

Tony grinned guiltily. “It was for the best,” he said. “Trust me.” Steve remembered the bottle of Maker's Mark – he had moved it to the bottom of his closet. He just nodded and kept washing glasses, and they stayed quiet for a moment. “Are you moving back in?”

Steve opened his mouth to speak, but instead he took a moment to rinse a glass and put it in the dish drainer. “I don't know,” he said. “I don't know if I'm ready for what that could bring.”

“I'll keep my hands off of ya,” Tony said. “I promise – no touchy. We can keep the thumbprint access too if you're worried about -”

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve said loudly, a purposeful attempt to drown the other man out. “I don't – you're not a creep. That's not my concern.” ( _Holy shit, he really does think I hate him_.) “I can't make any promises, I really can't, but my main concern is whether or not it would be worth it. Would living here be worth everything else?”

 _Everything else_ was an abstract way to describe something that begged for words anyway – Steve's intangible fear of the temptation of living two floors below Tony again. Would it be worth the pain of wanting something but being too proud to go get it? Would it be worth it to once more make himself available – vulnerable – like that, only to have his hopes dashed yet again? But Steve didn't want to explain further. He didn't want to be the one who said it first.

“I know I'm a handful,” Tony said, “and I can't make any promises either, but I know it would mean a lot to everyone if you came back. Especially me.” Tony gave a small smile that Steve couldn't help but return. “I still don't think Clint's forgiven me for running you off.”

“I'll be honest – I miss it here,” Steve admitted, and Tony didn't try to restrain his triumphant grin at that. “And – hey, look, about...” Steve, at a loss, just gestured between him and Tony with a wet hand. “This. Us, I guess. I don't know -”

“Relax,” Tony replied, his demeanor entirely too cool. “I know when I've lost.”

“I didn't say you lost,” Steve said. “I said I don't know.” He looked back down into the sink at the soapy water, his face heating.

“Don't know what?” Tony asked, still trying to keep his tone light even though his face was horribly tense when Steve dared a glance, his mouth and forehead drawn tight.

“If it'll be worth it,” Steve said. And yeah, he'd just thought about how he didn't want to be the first to say it, but wasn't that the mistake he'd made before? Assuming that things were a certain way when they clearly weren't? “You know, I've been standing here for a while now trying to convince myself that all of this is a bad idea, but I care about you, a whole lot, okay, and I want you in a way that's real – that makes me wanna protect you and fight for you. And I shouldn't feel hurt anymore because it's been a year, you know? And I don't...not really, but...” And finally Steve looked at Tony, saw the awful mish-mash of hope and fear written across his face.

“I won't hurt you,” Tony said, his expression soft but serious. “And I won't lie to you. Never again. I can promise you _that_.” Tony took a step closer, his whole body tense now. “Come on, let me try. I wanna do this right, I owe you that much.”

“It can't go _anything_ like the way it did last year, okay?” Steve said, clearly not a question, and he turned to face Tony. “I told you a year ago that things can't be the same between us, and that's still true. I need to see that we're on the same page this time around.” He reached out for Tony's wrist and picked it up, looking at a big purple thumbprint that had been bruised into his skin. “I'm still a little messed up over all this, so we're going at _my_ pace this time. You can respect that, right?”

“Of course,” Tony replied, his voice a bit unsteady, and Steve didn't look at him because he wasn't sure what might happen. “Anything for you. I mean that.” Tony reached out with his free hand and Steve just chuckled quietly before reaching out as well, shaking Tony's dry hand with his own soapy one. “Hey, welcome back.”

 

* * *

 

Tony went to his penthouse and had JARVIS hire movers for Steve ( _everything comes with him this time_ ), and he also had him send the cleaning staff to properly dust his new (old) place and get it ready for his return. Tony went to the private elevator and reapplied the stylized cap to the button for Steve's apartment himself. ( _We are his friends, we are the only family he has, and this is his home._ )

 

*

 

Tony knew that the nights would be the most difficult. He wanted to ask Steve to sleep over every night now that he'd moved back in, but he was worried about how that might look. So now he was sitting on his couch and drinking vegetable juice and feeling incredibly happy that he'd left his burner phone in Steve's car that night, never to be seen again. No Troys to beg and torment him.

“ _Sir,_ ” JARVIS chimed in suddenly, “ _Dr. Banner will be arriving shortly._ ”

The elevator dinged almost immediately and the doors opened, and Bruce walked out in his pajamas. No shoes, just socks on his feet. He smiled easily as he walked over to Tony, who was sitting on the couch.

“This is awful,” Tony said, gesturing with the tumbler of carrot-apple-celery-milk thistle juice, and Bruce just grinned.

“Jim says that you don't sleep so well without him or Steve around,” Bruce said, and Tony just nodded, determined to let go of his shame. “Well, Jim's still deployed and Steve's stuck at SHIELD for the next few days. Can I help?”

“Yes,” Tony said quickly, almost _too_ immediately. “Absolutely.”

Bruce wasn't much for cuddling but he kept a hand on Tony all night – on his arm, in his hair, laying flat against the mess of scars on his chest, as if to keep him there.

 

*

 

The team sprang into action once they found out what Tony needed from them, and the next night Natasha was at his door in a surprisingly tacky blue sweatsuit and her manicure kit in hand.

“ _Tony_ ,” she said with faux exasperation when he asked. “Your nails. _Look_ at them.”

Natasha actually ended up giving him a legitimate mani-pedi, as good as any that he'd ever paid for. Turns out she'd once gone deep cover as the beautician of a royal family that she wouldn't name, and the assignment had lasted about a year. She cleaned under Tony's nails and shaped them, oiled his cuticles and massaged his hands while regaling him with stories of how extravagant the queen had been, how she liked huge beehives and pompadours, her room full of shoes, her request that Natasha sharpen her nails so that she could more effectively dig them into her husband's arm.

Natasha brought a pair of shears, too, so she trimmed Tony's hair for him, shaped it up and used his beard trimmer to fix his sideburns and his line. Then she cleaned up his goatee, too, because why not? He complained that the hair was itchy so she made him take a shower, and when he was done he looked at his steamy image in the mirror and ran clean nails through his cut hair. It felt fucking great, and surprisingly new. Natasha was nodding off in his bed by then so he just sidled up right beside her, ignoring _Saturday Night Live_ reruns, and they both fell asleep, shoulder-to-shoulder like teenagers.

 

Natasha wasn't much of a cuddler, either, but Thor most certainly was – he'd smile and pull Tony close whenever he caught him shyly inching his way across the bed, and he'd tell captivating stories of the Asgardian myths in the softest, kindest voice possible, right into Tony's ear. Tony always dreamed when he shared the bed with Thor, but they were _beautiful_ dreams – his favorite was the one where he was in his armor and flying towards a golden hall shining in the sun amongst the clouds, winged women with armored chests flitting about and drinking from horns. He always awoke with tears in his eyes after that one, so rested and so happy. He would hug Thor then, even if he was still asleep. He often forgot that his big blond friend was a God, a being capable of soothing his sleep and showing him a warrior's heaven in his dreams.

 

Clint never fell asleep before Tony did. He'd read to Tony until he fell asleep first, every single night – right now they were working through a collection of poems by Langston Hughes. (Tony never wanted to hear “A Dream Deferred.”) He seemed preoccupied with Tony's security and comfort, projecting a need for it onto Tony when the man didn't feel threatened at all (Clint always brought his bow and quiver). Still, Tony couldn't say that he didn't appreciate it. Clint wore a retainer, too, and he didn't mind holding Tony in his sleep, either.

 

It went in that order from Monday to Friday, and he slept alone for the remainder of the week. Tony often referred to the weekends as his “Big Boy Nights,” a time for him to acclimate himself to an empty bed, to find comfort alone every now and again. But some Sundays, after coffee cake and the team lazying around his apartment, Steve would come upstairs and spend the night with Tony, make him watch _SportsCenter_ until he complained so loudly that they _had_ to watch an old movie just to get him to calm down again. Steve didn't need much sleep so it was easy for him to stay awake until Tony was out, and sometimes Tony would wake in the middle of the night to find himself leaning against Steve's chest as he read or watched a movie on his tablet, earbuds in. “Go back to sleep,” Steve would always say, and Tony never argued.

Except once.

Tony woke because he felt the room trembling, shaking for some reason. He stirred a bit and was quick to realize that this wasn't the case – Steve was spooned tightly to him, both arms holding Tony, one hand plastered on top of where the arc reactor used to be, his entire body trembling – no, _shivering_ , his breath coming out in tight puffs against Tony's neck. Steve was dreaming, and it seemed bad. So Tony laid a hand over Steve's on his chest and his stomach jolted when Steve woke with a start, his eyes snapping open wide and fearful. Tony turned his head and met Steve's wild eyes, watched him blink around the room a few times, but the wildness in his eyes remained.

“Go back to sleep,” Steve said shakily.

“You had a bad dream,” Tony said, and he continued when Steve tried to play it off. “I always know when you're having a bad dream.” Steve's face calmed then and he lowered his eyes, letting his grip relax a bit. Tony turned in Steve's embrace and hugged him, one hand rubbing circles on his back and the other one on the back of his neck. Steve trembled and it made Tony's chest feel tight with the fact that he was powerless to make Steve's pain go away.

“You should share the bed with Thor some time,” Tony whispered into Steve's ear. “It's beautiful. When you dream, he'll show you Valhalla.”

“Really?” Steve whispered back. “Sounds nice.” Steve's shiver began to lessen, and Tony petted the back of his head again, and Steve actually curled in towards him, his large shoulders seeming to shrink from the weight of his nightmare.

“It is,” Tony continued. “Odin's 'great hall on high' he calls it – it sits in the clouds and shines gold in the light. Valkyries are flying all around, too, wearing golden armor on their chests and drinking mead out of shining ivory horns. And their voices are like...I don't know, does silver make a sound?” He felt Steve smile against his cheek. “Imagine the clearest, brightest, sweetest note from a silver trumpet.” Steve wasn't shivering anymore. “Blond hair floating in the air like it's weightless. Clouds so white, so thick, you really do think you could just lay down on them. Go to sleep on them. I haven't been inside of the great hall yet, but apparently they feast.” Tony felt Steve's hands on his back, rubbing soothingly. “The glorious dead, drinking and feasting and singing battle hymns in the golden hall for all eternity. Sounds perfect.”

Tony was surprised when Steve moved to press their foreheads together, eyes closed and lips smiling gently.

“I didn't know you could tell when I was dreaming,” Steve said softly. “I thought it was my secret.” Tony just shook his head and Steve opened his eyes, grinning at him in far too fond a fashion.

“I'm supposed to be comforting _you_ ,” Steve said lightly. “Not the other way around.”

Tony just smiled at that, his hand coming around to brush Steve's forehead, to trace his jawline and rest a hand over his heart.

( _This is the least I can do to comfort him, to show him I always cared._ )

“It's okay,” Tony said, and he angled his head up to kiss Steve's lips, just a warm press of their mouths together, and when he leaned back to see the warmth in Steve's eyes he did it again, a little longer this time. ( _Worthless – and possibly inappropriate, but it is something._ ) “I'm here,” Tony said, and he kissed Steve once more, this time finding his face framed by a large hand that moved gently down his cheek, fingertips now tracing the curve from his ear to his shoulder. Steve was opening his mouth slightly, licking at Tony and humming softly into their kiss. Steve was kissing him _back_ , was gifting Tony with this gorgeous and simple thing, and the realization made him shiver.

“Go back to sleep,” Tony whispered along Steve's lips, his hand stroking through Steve's hair as he leaned into his touch. Tony kept his eyes closed because he was already demonstrating amazing self-control and couldn't bear to be undone. This was his opportunity to get it right, and he wouldn't fuck it up. So he just petted the back of Steve's head when he felt him nod, and Tony rolled onto his back to let Steve curl into his side, and they fell asleep again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I'm not settling. I'm making a choice."_

Steve sighed and absentmindedly pressed a button, and the elevator began to move. He'd been horribly distracted at work today and the recruits could tell – he'd made them run through the same exercise three times before one of them shyly spoke up about it. Tony's sleep was improving by miles with everyone's help. He was sleeping through the night now, never waking once by most of their accounts. And he and Tony were kissing now, too.

It shouldn't have unnerved him as much as it did – they'd agreed to give it another shot, and of course intimacy would be part of that, but something about all of it just scared the shit out of him. Especially after seeing what the past few months had really been like for Tony...he'd heard things but had no idea that he was such a wreck, and not just physically. He knew he couldn't fix Tony – no one can really _fix_ anyone – but knowing all this hurt when he wasn't sure how responsible he was for it all.

 

“You're _not_ ,” Clint told him that night as they ignored the game. “Why would you be responsible?” Steve opened his mouth to state the obvious _(because I'm worried I sent Tony into an emotional tailspin by refusing to pretend my heartbreak didn't matter, and sleeping with him now could be considered taking advantage_ ) but Clint interrupted him. “He's an adult, okay? He made a choice.”

“Outside factors influence our choices,” Steve said, and he took a swig of his beer so he wouldn't have to look at Clint's face.

“Okay, I get it,” Clint responded. “You feel like this is your fault -”

“I didn't take the high road,” Steve said. “When you get dumped or hurt you're supposed to take the high road, you know? I know how it is nowadays – people are supposed to swallow their pain and act like it never hurt and agree to being friends with their exes, no matter how much of an asshole they were. You're supposed to sleep around and rub it in your ex's face, too, right?” Steve faced the television now but he wasn't watching it. “I didn't do any of that. I let him know how shitty he was and refused to be his friend. I just – he had all the power, you know? His house, his bed, he's dumping _me_ and I hadn't done anything at all...I wanted to take something from him, too.” Steve sighed and looked at the label of his beer. “The only thing I could take from him was myself. You know – the privilege of calling someone your friend. And I didn't think that would mean _anything_. I didn't even think he'd notice, but he did.”

“Wow,” was all Clint said at first, and at first Steve thought he was just being a smartass until he saw the shock written in his features. “I didn't know _all_ of that.”

Steve hitched an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. “Do you think that was too harsh?”

“Considering the circumstances,” Clint mused, “possibly, but not particularly. People are fuckin' obsessed with trying to save face, you know? People are so fake. We act like being emotional is 'lesser,' or something stupid like that. I can appreciate you being real about the whole thing. Own your shit, man.” Steve nodded, reassured, but he still felt itchy, uneasy about it all. Clint seemed to sense this because he continued with, “You're not the reason Tony stayed wasted and banged strangers. That guy runs hot anyway. I think that woulda happened whether he was with you or not.”

 

*

 

Steve was done following any example he'd set for himself in the past year. He and Tony retired to his room after dinner and Steve asked him, flat-out.

“Is this my fault?” he asked, and Tony's brow wrinkled as he looked up from channel-surfing. “Did you do all of this because of me?”

“No,” Tony answered, not missing a beat. “There's lots of reasons that I do the dumb things I do, and sometimes you're one of them, but...” Tony paused for a second, his eyes going soft. “It was a distraction. It was a way to forget _everything_ , you know, to feel something else for a while. There was so much to freak out about anyway...you, this – it was there, but it wasn't _why_ it happened.”

“You seem like you're coming out of it alright,” Steve said, and he cringed inwardly because Tony smiled at that, and he knew the next thing he said would wipe that right off of his face. “It's just hard for me to understand when the only difference between today and two weeks ago is the fact that we're...” Steve trailed off there, not wanting to define it.

“There's other differences,” Tony said. “There were all these things I wanted, and I'm realizing now that I was always able to have them if I would have just done right by the people around me, you know? I missed all of you, and all I had to do was come downstairs. I needed bed buddies, and I could have just asked instead of getting too trashed to stay awake every night. Everything I've ever wanted has always been right here, you know?” Tony settled on _House_. “Realized it too late.”

They ended up watching _Seinfeld_ instead.

“Why do you like this show?” Tony asked, rolling his eyes as George tried to figure out why someone would put tarragon in egg salad. “I mean it's funny, but all you watch are shows about awful groups of awful people being awful to each other.”

“You mean like friends?” Steve responded, flashing a grin over at Tony. “I like shows about friends. Groups of friends.” They looked back up to see Kramer attempting to express his feelings to Jerry and George before being promptly ignored. “And anyway, Dr. House is an asshole and a loner. I'd rather watch awful groups of awful people trying their damnedest to keep each other afloat, even when it comes out all wrong.”

 

*

 

Steve thought it was best to trust Tony, so he did, and he slowly let go of his guilt as the days passed. Tony began to join him in the gym sometimes, first just walking on the treadmill and then running at intervals. Eventually he was able to run an entire mile without stopping, and Steve would grin from behind his punching bag. Tony had stuff he wanted Steve to put on him, fancy oils and creams, and Steve always obliged him even though Tony didn't have to go through such lengths to get his hands on him. Maybe he wanted to take it slow, and that made sense to Steve though he wasn't sure how inclined he was towards the same. He always wanted to touch Tony but Tony seemed to carry an uneasiness with him now, a discomfort that was aimed at his body in a way that Steve couldn't quite understand. Tony was thinner and paler but his eyes still shone like fire if Rhodey called or when R&D had something new for him. Tony's grin flashed like quicksilver against Steve's lips whenever he'd nip at him. Steve barely thought of the shaky smiles and crazy eyes he'd seen out of him months ago, and Tony's skin was already smooth and soft again. He was as gorgeous as he'd always been.

 

So they were kissing. It wasn't much, but every touch still lit a fire under Steve's skin. He'd find himself shaking sometimes, Tony's face in his trembling hands and Steve's cock so hard he could pound nails with it. He never pressed against Tony when his body reacted that way but sometimes it couldn't be helped, like one night when he found himself lying on his side with Tony in front of him, their legs and lips twisted together. Steve's erection strained in his boxers and Tony knew it was there, he _had_ to. Tony's lips trailed across his cheek and to his neck, and Steve's suspicions were confirmed when he felt Tony's hand slip into his boxers.

“Christ,” was all Steve could manage to say when Tony took him in his hand, and he moaned when Tony quickly went to work in earnest, his hand moving purposefully with a slight twist at the top of each stroke. Tony's lips were on his again and Steve reached out, going for Tony's boxers but instead finding Tony's other hand, and their fingers threaded together as Tony spit in his other hand and then went back to work, making Steve sputter into his mouth.

Steve's face was hot and he knew he wouldn't last long, especially now that Tony's hand was wet and moving fast, merciless on the head of his cock and making Tony's stroke slicker as Steve started leaking copiously into his fist. He cursed under his breath and thrust into Tony's hand, his head starting to swim, and Tony pulled down Steve's boxers and wrapped both hands around him now, moving them in time to Steve's now-erratic thrusts.

“Tony,” he breathed, his whole body burning and tingling, “fuck, I'm...back up a little...” Steve was going to come hard, and he knew it.

“Do it,” Tony whispered, his lips sliding along Steve's, “make a mess, come on, I want you to.” And he reached down with one hand to cup Steve's balls, and that simple touch and heat were too much...Steve screwed his eyes shut and did as Tony told him to, his breath stuttering across Tony's cheek as he came, each burst making his body thrum with pleasure. He peeked and saw himself striping up Tony's boxers and stomach, and his eyes literally rolled back in his head when Tony squeezed him, wrung him out. Steve opened his eyes to see Tony licking his fingers clean, his breath heavy, and Steve leaned in for a kiss – only to have Tony dodge him.

“Lemme clean up,” Tony said, and the kiss he gave Steve then was light and sweet, and Steve managed a hazy smile as Tony got up and went to the bathroom. Tony wasn't in there long, only five minutes or so, and he came out in his robe and hopped back into bed with a smile. Steve rolled toward him immediately and kissed him hard, his hand not hesitating to snake inside of Tony's robe, but he stopped when he felt Tony's hand holding his own still.

“I took care of it,” Tony said into their kiss, and Steve's brow wrinkled.

“What?” Steve said, genuinely disappointed. “Why would you – Tony, I want -”

“Let's not,” Tony said, his words firm but his tone sweet. “I mean, that was nice, wasn't it? I don't need...let's just go to sleep.” He kissed Steve like an apology. “Alright?”

Steve wouldn't push it. Tony clearly didn't want to be touched like that. He wanted to ask why, but he could probably guess the answer, and the answer he came up with made his heart hurt and his flesh crawl. So he just nodded and settled down in his bed, and Tony watched _Martin_ until Steve fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

Tony was waiting in his lab when Bruce walked in. Bruce seemed a little surprised to see him, and it was probably because whenever Tony was in the lab he was usually elbows-deep in something, but right now Tony was sitting on a stool and ignoring the holograms around him, not doing much except smiling at his friend.

“Heya,” Bruce said as he approached. “Did that experiment explode in your face?”

“I was actually hoping to get my results from you,” Tony said, and when Bruce wrinkled his brow a bit he continued. “My blood test.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Bruce said. “Sorry, I got the results back like a week ago. You're clean as a whistle.”

Tony couldn't hide his relief – he sighed audibly and pressed a hand to his chest as if to keep himself from falling over. “Fantastic,” he breathed, and he looked up to see Bruce smiling curiously at him. “Last night, we were...look, I know he's a super soldier, impervious to infection and all that, but I just wanna be sure before we...you know.”

Bruce went to a console and began pulling up his day's work, but he kept his focus on Tony. “Last night?” he repeated. “So it's for real? You two are...” He trailed off there, clearly leaving the blank for Tony to fill.

Tony nodded and felt his face heat up. “Yeah, he actually wants me,” he said. “I can't believe it. I mean I was such a piece of shit to him, not to mention that at this point every jerk in lower Manhattan has had a turn with me.”

“I wish you wouldn't say things like that,” Bruce said.

“Me, too,” Tony responded with a dry chuckle. “I heard he hooked up with some SHIELD agent while we were on the outs, and it pissed me off when I first heard it, but...good for him, seriously. He deserves better.” Bruce wasn't looking at him anymore, but he was grinning. “Do you know anything about that?”

“You probably wanna ask Steve yourself,” Bruce suggested.

 

*

 

Tony was done following any example he'd set for himself in the past year. He was out on the disassembly strip and _not_ smoking, just peering over the city and finding himself remarkably bored with the view. The sun was setting and it should have been beautiful to him but he was thinking about Happy Hour, he was thinking of fucking so many Troys until his cock hurt and doing bumps to help him ignore the pain. Sunset was always beautiful from the pier.

He was thinking of Mr. Galaga Man. Mr. Big Stuff, Mr. Cleaner-Kinder-Healthier-Happier. Mr. Amicable Breakup. Galaga had clearly done something right to keep himself in Steve's good favor after their split. Tony remembered how bright Steve's eyes were that day when he saw them together on the Helicarrier, the way he smiled as they both held the same grip of papers and talked about the play-offs. He'd clearly done better than Tony.

Tony wanted a drink. ( _No sir._ )

“Why are you out here?”

Tony turned around and saw Steve in his workout clothes, still soggy but his face wiped dry. Droplets of sweat glistened at his hairline as he walked up, looking around much too suspiciously for Tony's comfort, but it made sense. Steve had clearly learned this particular tell of his.

“You alright?” Steve asked, his tone light but his forehead wrinkled as he approached and leaned onto the railing beside him.

( _Grow some fucking nuts. Grow up. In general._ )

“I have a question,” Tony began, and Steve nodded. “What was it like after you left? I mean I have ideas – I know you started playing rummy and that you might have dated someone, but I really did lose you for a year. What were you up to?”

Steve let out a breathy chuckle and looked out over the landscape. “Wow,” he began, not hiding how the weight of that question made him feel. “Okay, my year in a sentence...I got a life. I made friends and had fun. I started teaching at SHIELD – logistics and tactical theory, bowled, played cards, stuff like that.” Tony was looking at Steve, watching the sweat on his neck dry and fade away in the cool, clean-scented wind so far from the cars below. Steve glanced at him almost guiltily then, and to Tony's surprise, Steve began to blush. “And yeah, I dated a guy for a little while. I mean it only lasted a few weeks -”

“Was he good to you?”

“Yeah,” Steve said flippantly.

“You're still friends with him?”

“Yeah, he's a nice guy.” Steve turned towards Tony then, resting an elbow on the railing. “Is that a bad thing? Me and Derek being friends? He doesn't come around or anything -”

“Not at all,” Tony said, and he meant it. “I'm just trying to figure out what he did right that I didn't.”

Steve rolled his eyes at that, but he continued to smile through it. “He didn't lie to me, for one,” Steve said, still grinning. “We just kept it super-honest. It didn't take me long to figure out that I didn't want to be with him, and I told him so. He had other fish to fry, too, so we just shook hands and went our separate ways. It's kinda ridiculous how people like to over-complicate the simplest things.”

Tony's stomach hurt at the notion of Steve fucking that guy, an idiot who would play video games while the world was ending, but he knew that Steve deserved such a painless experience. He deserved to know that sex and love didn't have to hurt. Tony hated how painful he'd made everything for Steve and he was honestly glad to know that someone – even if it _was_ just an idiot who didn't take his job seriously – had shown him a better way.

“Good,” Tony said. “I'm glad to know you picked a winner” - Steve shook his head and grinned almost painfully - “no seriously, I am. I'm happy you know that this _isn't_ as good as it gets. You deserve better than me – than _this_.”

“Tony -”

“I ran you through the fucking ringer,” Tony said, and he couldn't look at Steve again. He was staring into his chest as they now stood face-to-face, one of Steve's hands on Tony's shoulder. “I told so many lies and withheld so many truths from you. You were right – I wanted to have my cake and eat it, too. I shouldn't have done it but I'm greedy, I'm fucking greedy and selfish and I wasn't thinking about you or Pepper or...” Tony reached for the hand on his shoulder and took it, just looked at it because he really wanted to look at Steve's face but couldn't. “I don't understand why you're back. I don't understand why you still want me. Especially now that you know you don't have to settle for a fuck-up like me.”

“I'm not settling,” Steve said, his tone so firm that Tony looked up to see the muscles in his jawline rippling. “This is not settling. I'm not here to fix you or anything like that. I'm here because I want to be.”

“I'm so sorry,” Tony said, the words thick in his mouth as if he were saying them to Steve for the first time. “I don't feel like it's possible for me to say it enough. I'm _so_ sorry. The life you made for yourself is better than anything I _ever_ gave you.”

“Tony, you don't have to -”

“What did you say his name was? Derek? Maybe you wanna -”

“This conversation is over.” Steve pulled Tony close and hugged him, pressed him tight against his chest and sighed across the top of his head. “We're not having this discussion ever again, okay?” Tony nodded but didn't look up, overwhelmed by feelings that conflicted horribly inside of him. “I'm not settling. I'm making a choice. I'm choosing you. I'm choosing to be with you and to fight through this _with_ you. And you're worth it, okay? You're worth it and you have no idea.”

 

*

 

Tony started to really get into working out. He would run on the treadmill and jump rope and do sit-ups, and Steve would watch him with impressed and fascinated eyes as he boxed. Weeks had passed and Tony was running five miles a day now, and doing crunches and curls on top of that. Steve always told him that he looked marvelous, beautiful even, and he'd kiss him sweetly and ignore Tony's comments about how much work his body still needed. Tony hated showering, having to run his hands over bruises and scabs, accidentally pulling the scabs off sometimes and showing the pink wounds beneath. He wanted to get rid of it all. He wanted something new.

Tony didn't crave ketamine or drunkenness anymore. He didn't want to go out at night. He didn't want to fuck a stranger ever again. He had plenty to do at home, and he realized entirely too late that it had always been that way. So he hung out with his friends and talked to Rhodey on the phone and worked out to rehab his limp muscles and sunned himself to remedy his sallow skin. He'd get out of his tanning bed and look in the mirror, noticing how his body was changing – his skin was getting firmer, his muscles stronger and more defined.

Tony took long saunas – to sweat out toxins, Tony explained to Steve when he asked. Tony had cataloged every bruise and scar on his body, and he bought Japanese pearl cream and placenta balms and raw shea and cocoa butters to massage into his battered skin. Steve would rub him down so often that one day he admitted to Tony that he'd memorized his bruises, too.

 

Tony stood in the kitchen preparing fresh juice for himself – he was doing another cleanse after finding that the last one made him feel fucking amazing. Clint walked in with a newspaper and dropped it in front of Steve, then purposely bumped into Tony as he walked to the coffee maker.

“Look at you, Juice Tiger,” he said, and Tony laughed and kept pulling the greens off of his carrots. “Another detox, huh? And look at those guns” - he poked Tony's bicep with a snicker - “You are _killin' it_ , Stark.”

Clint took his coffee and left, and Tony sat down with his juice and sidled up to read over Steve's shoulder.

“Yeah, what's with all the working out?” Steve asked, still focused on the paper. “Clint's right – you're really givin' it the college try.”

“Feels good,” Tony said. “Feels _better_.” He slid his palm across Steve's and marveled at how soft it was. “That cocoa butter's making your hands soft.”

“Yeah, 'cause of how often you want me to slather it on you,” Steve retorted quickly, his tone playfully annoyed. “Seriously, you got me puttin' all that stuff on you every day now. What's it supposed to do anyway?”

“Helps scars fade,” Tony said, and he didn't return Steve's gaze when he looked at him. “I think the pearl cream is supposed to help with the bruises, but I'm not sure. One of them does.” He finally looked at Steve. “I just want them gone. I don't wanna take off my clothes and see that every fucking time, you know? I don't want to think about it anymore. I don't want to remember.”

Tony ran his thumb across Steve's smooth palm. “Gone without a trace,” he mumbled. “Fresh start, all that stuff. That's what I'm shootin' for.”

 

Steve started to help Tony work out. Well, Tony figured out pretty quickly that Steve wasn't there to help him at all – he never offered pointers or criticized his technique, never chastised Tony if he didn't want to work out on a particular day. He would just encourage Tony, tell him he looked great and that he was doing well. Steve seemed to enjoy going to the gym with him, watching Tony in the mirrors as he went through his own exercise routine. On nights where Tony complained of boredom Steve would come over and shadowbox with him, help him with his form and speed. Tony would be so tired afterward that he couldn't help but pass out at midnight, lousy and weak in a lump on his bed.

Sometimes they worked out in Steve's private gym, and in those moments Steve would let his hands ghost across Tony's muscles, pointing out their improvement, and he'd kiss him for a job well done. This pleased Tony the most – making his body new again, taking it back. He would lift his shirt to show Steve his sides and hips, pointing out the way his bruises were disappearing and his scars were lightening as the weeks passed. They'd lay in bed together and Tony would literally be distracted from Steve's lips by his own skin, always calling out when a bruise was yellowing away.

“Good,” Steve said in response one night, and then he sucked lightly at Tony's neck, and Tony gave a sweet sigh beneath him as he ignored the bruise he'd been examining and turned towards Steve's touch. He could feel Steve's fingers at the hem of his shirt, sliding beneath playfully before pressing flat on his stomach and moving up. Steve's hands ran across old wounds and bruises, making them sting, waking them up.

Tony drew Steve's eyes to him when he held his hands still. “Can we wait?” Tony asked. “I think we should wait. You know, until they're gone. We're almost there.” Tony tapped on a bruise on his side, one of the last, and it sent a jolt across his skin.

“I don't care,” Steve said, though he removed his hands and pressed them into the mattress on either side of them. “Your body's perfect, Tony – even at your worst, you were perfect.”

Tony always asked himself if he was dreaming when Steve said stuff like that. Sometimes he had to remind himself that this was real, that they were actually doing this and that Steve really wanted him. That didn't make the stinging on his side go away, though, nor did it lessen the shame he felt at Steve seeing him like this. “I don't want to,” Tony said finally. “This isn't what I want to share with you. Not when I don't feel...” _Clean_ , he wanted to say, but he knew that Steve would have none of that so he just trailed off there, leaning up to kiss Steve's cheek.

“Then of course we'll wait,” Steve said. “Anything you want, Tony. We can definitely wait, but I want you to understand that I'm doing this for _you_ , not for me.” He framed Tony's face with two large hands. “You hear me? I'll take you however I can have you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my beautiful beta, Anna Fugazzi, for the short-notice brainstormin'.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A beautiful thing._

Steve joined Bruce and Tony for a presentation they were giving at St. Francis College, something about subatomic particle whatevers, making new substances – he wasn't sure. But Tony wanted to stop at Katz's Deli on the way back, absolutely insisted on it since he'd been avoiding the Bowery for a while and missed the pastrami on rye. Steve had two reubens and an iced tea while Bruce had matzoh ball soup and Happy had corned beef. Tony ate his pastrami silently. Steve watched Tony look around, eying the patrons with suspicion, nervous for an obvious reason.

“Everything alright?” Steve asked, and Tony's smile seemed forced.

“Great sandwich,” Tony said.

Happy sat down to-go boxes for them all. Steve and Bruce didn't have any leftovers but Tony and Happy did, and the other two sat quietly while they boxed up their food, the crowd sparse and surprisingly not interested in Iron Man and Captain America and their two friends.

They exited onto the sidewalk and were nearly bowled over by a group of guys walking in, all laughing and fuzzy-eyed. It wasn't even lunchtime yet, maybe a quarter past eleven at most, and Steve couldn't understand why anyone would reek like alcohol this early in the day. He continued towards the car with Bruce and he was about to get in when he realized that Tony hadn't followed, and he turned to see Tony standing at the door of the deli with the same guy he'd been fucking in the stairwell that day – and there was the other one, the one that had interrupted movie night. At least five guys were there, all sloppy and hanging on each other, and they all knew Tony.

Steve's chest felt tight and he knew his face was bright red but he walked over calmly, slowly, counting silently in his head and trying to settle himself down before he spoke. The boys were all talking to Tony at once, interrupting each other and mewing pitifully like stray cats. “Papi, we _miss_ you” and “you look _good_ ” and “when are you gonna come see us?” Tony grinned and mumbled some apologies and shifted as if to walk away, but then the blondest and tallest of them said, “Oh daddy, come on, you know we love you,” and Steve's stomach knotted at those words, made his insides boil with shock that anyone could use such a word so casually. He finally reached them and he rested his hand on Tony's back, not caring if anyone found it to be a possessive touch. Maybe it was.

“Car's ready, Tony,” he said, but he was staring at the boy in front of him ( _they're all called Troy, right?_ ) who was looking him over with red and scatterbrained eyes, a gaze that reminded him of mornings and rides home that he'd rather forget. The kid in front of him had a real name, and it probably wasn't Troy. He had a mother somewhere, a father, too, and probably a whole slew of friends who had no idea where he was and if he was safe.

“Are you Apple Pie?” Troy asked. Steve ignored him, gently pressing his hand into Tony's back and leading him towards the car. “Yes, you are!” And now Troy turned to the others. “Remember – like over a month ago, when that guy showed up at like six am...” He and Tony shared equally apologetic glances as they got into the car, never turning back to the Troys or acknowledging another word out of their mouths. “Apple Pie!” they kept calling, but no one ever turned around. Tony tried to apologize but no one wanted to hear it, it wasn't necessary. It was over, it was in the past now, and Tony was home with them again.

 

Steve got home and took a conference call that lasted an hour, then met with Clint to discuss some things that would be happening next week. He decided to go a few rounds in the gym and walked in to find Tony on the treadmill, running at a frightful pace with no music on, just the whirr of the machine and the almost panicked sound of his breath echoing off of the parquet floor. Steve approached the treadmill and rested a hand on it, looking into Tony's sweat-drenched face and vacant eyes. Looking the display, Steve saw that the treadmill had been on for over an hour and that over ten miles had been run. Apparently, this was the only thing Tony had been doing since he got back from the deli (punishing himself). Steve slowed down the treadmill significantly, letting it crawl to a slow pace before turning it off. Tony stood silently and hung his head down as he caught his breath, elbows on the armrests, his clothes drenched with sweat and breath gusting so hard that Steve thought he might hyperventilate.

“That was fucking humiliating,” Tony choked out, barely standing. “Never wanted you to see them, never shoulda gone back to that fucking neighborhood...” Tony wiped his face with his hands, squeezing in a manner that Steve found to be a bit too firm. “I just want it to be over. I want things back the way they were.”

“You're almost there,” Steve said. “Come on, let's get out of here.” He held out his hand and Tony took it without a word.

Steve and Tony kissed long and slow in the sauna, the sprinklers on and misting them with chamomile. Tony had been concerned about having saunas with Steve at first, worried that it would crank up his lust to a point that he couldn't handle, but it never did – instead it just tuned them into each other's bodies, made each touch marvelous and sacred. Tony sat across Steve's lap and swooned at big hands caressing him, nothing stinging anymore. He felt cleaner, closer to beautiful, even when Steve rested his fingertips on the same bruise that Tony had pressed on weeks earlier.

“Last one,” Steve whispered, and he nuzzled Tony's lips. “Almost there.”

 

* * *

 

There was a party on the roof. Rhodey was in town for the first time in months, and he sat at a table with Tony as everyone else milled about, drinking lightly and talking. Their parties got wilder sometimes, sure, but tonight everyone was so mellow – all of the ice had melted in Tony's bourbon and he was ignoring it, and Rhodey's beer was so warm that the bottle wasn't even sweating anymore. Rhodey had been going on and on about how good Tony looked and how happy he was to see him again, but Tony made him stop and now they were just talking about the usual – work and Pepper and Bruce and Iron Man and War Machine. (And Steve.)

“So you're lookin' good,” Rhodey said, and Tony immediately frowned. “Sorry, man, I know you said to drop it, but really. It's impressive.”

Tony just flexed one arm comically. “Big deal, I work out.”

Rhodey laughed as he picked up his beer. “Steve must be a good sparring partner,” he said, and he sat his hot beer back down.

“We don't spar,” Tony said. “Wouldn't be a fair fight. We work out together, but not really. I'll hit the treadmill or whatever while he's boxing.”

A hand fell on Rhodey's shoulder and he put his own on top of it without looking, already knowing it was Bruce, who was standing behind him and talking to Clint. Tony looked over to see Steve approaching with an apple in his hand, and he took the seat beside him with a smile.

“Talkin' about me?” he asked, and he produced a knife so that he could whittle off large chips of the fruit, popping them into his mouth with the same hand that held the knife.

“We are,” Rhodey said. “You're a good trainer for our boy over there.”

“I help out a little,” Steve said around the apple. “Gotta keep our boy in shape.” Steve reached out and poked Tony's abdomen, and he just laughed as he whittled off another piece of apple and offered it to Tony with a wink. The simple gesture made Tony feel breathless, but he played it off and took the fruit with a nod.

 

It was early when they all turned in, but Rhodey would be there for a week so they had plenty of time to catch up. They joked about how Tony “got” Rhodey for a week and then Bruce “got” him for the next one, but it kind of worked best that way. Tony needed a lot of attention and Rhodey tended to give it to him, and besides, Rhodey almost always slept in Bruce's room now and Tony was always happy to give them free reign of his myriad vacation homes in exchange for their understanding. In a week they'd be heading to Marrakesh.

Tony didn't need to share his bed with anyone much anymore, but they were all still happy to oblige him for the fun of it. It was a Monday incidentally, and earlier Steve had joked about _SportsCenter_ coming on at midnight. But now Tony was holding his retainer as he exited the bathroom and there was Steve under the covers in his bed, the comforter pulled up to his stomach and his eyes on the television display. The corners were crinkled with mirth and his lips were smiling fondly at _It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia_. He looked over at Tony and he just mumbled a hello before going back to the show, transfixed by 'the gang.' Steve wasn't wearing a shirt.

Tony walked over and removed his own tank top, now just wearing cotton pajama pants as he slid under the covers. He sat his retainer on the nightstand before moving close to Steve, tangling their legs up as always, and Tony stretched his body along Steve's side with a contented yawn.

“Fun party,” Tony said. “Did you put that together?”

“Yeah, me and Clint.”

“Good job. What for?”

“It's been two months,” Steve said. “Sixty days since I picked you up outside of that bar.” Tony hadn't thought of that night in ages but it still made his stomach tremble, though he tried his best to play it off. “Sixty days of no pier, no bar, no drugs, no smoking, and no Troys. We thought that was worth a party, and we knew you'd wanna see Rhodey.” Steve turned towards Tony and slid an arm under him, his expression soft as he pulled him close. “And he's right, you look phenomenal.” Tony felt Steve's other hand on his side, tracing little lines and circles – the palest and thinnest of scars, the only leftovers from back then.

“All this exercise and stuff – I wasn't sure about it at first because there's nothing wrong with you, you know? But I get it now, it's your body and you wanted to feel new again...there's no cuts or anything, no bruises, no handprints.” Steve looked into his eyes then, his gaze strong but warm on Tony. “All those men touching you, leaving marks on you – I fucking hated that. Couldn't stand it.” Steve looked down at Tony's torso and sides, examining them. “But they're gone.” He looked at Tony again, and he pulled him into his lap to give him a hot, hard kiss. They kissed plenty nowadays and not much more, but now Tony could feel Steve's cock beneath him, right against him, warmth already seeping through Tony's pajama pants. Steve was naked in his bed. “And now I can have you. You're mine now.” And his tone was reverent, not greedy, almost as if he didn't believe what he was saying. “And I'm not sharing you with anyone. _Ever_.”

Tony could only nod, his head swimming at Steve's touch, a touch he hadn't known in over a year, hadn't even allowed himself for two months, and he slid forward to rub himself along the length of Steve's steadily growing hardon. Beneath him Steve's breath was beginning to thicken and his hand tightened at Tony's hip, and he shifted beneath Tony with a languid and purposeful movement that made them both groan.

“You're back like before,” Steve whispered against Tony's lips, rolling his hips upward in a way that made Tony warble into their kiss. “You're perfect.” He rolled Tony onto his back and Steve rested flat against him as they kissed. “You always were, but now you know it, too. You feel new again, and you're finally mine.” Steve's kiss got firmer, his hips pressing harder into Tony's. “ _Never_ fucking sharing you again.”

It came from low in Steve's throat and the kiss that followed was sharp at the edges, and this time his words _were_ possessive and greedy and Tony just fell into it, thought to himself _yes, yes, yes_ just like the first time. Tony's hands moved over Steve's shoulders and his down his back, cupping his ass before sliding back up over his hips. Tony still had his pajamas on but they did nothing to muffle the sensation of their dicks rubbing together, both of them already achingly hard. It had been months since anyone had touched Tony in this way and his head swam from it, and the fact that it was _Steve_ , and that Steve thought he was perfect again – always had, really, and he still wanted to be with him in this way...

“I love you,” Tony said, and he wasn't embarrassed and he didn't wince, he just whispered it right into Steve's mouth as their hips moved together, and he breathed in Steve's sigh and met his blinking gaze. “Loved you a year ago, too.” Their lips crashed together, long and hard.

Steve whimpered into their kiss and took Tony by the hips, sliding his pajama pants off and letting his erection bob freely between them for a moment. Steve lay between Tony's legs and slid down, wrapping one hand around Tony's cock as he leaned down and took it into his mouth without preamble, no warning, and Tony practically _wailed_ at the delicious heat, the wetness and tight suction...

Tony's face burned as he curled his fists into his bedsheets, his head swimming at the sound of Steve sucking his cock, slow and steady and his hands gently nudging Tony's thighs apart. Tony spread eagerly and let Steve settle between them, his head bobbing as he held Tony's cock steady with one hand. He eased a hand up Tony's chest and Tony understood immediately – he took Steve's hand and sucked his fingers almost greedily, index and middle ( _goddamn I want you inside me_ ), slicking them up as much as possible before releasing them with a satisfied grunt.

Steve pulled away from Tony's cock to spread his legs open further, angled his hips up off of the bed with one cheek in each hand, and he spread Tony open, making him shudder. He felt Steve's mouth, his tongue down there licking and kissing him, and he trembled in Steve's strong grip. Steve spit on Tony's hole and swirled a wet finger around it, and Tony squirmed hungrily at the touch, bucking back and spreading his legs wider. Tony peeked down to see an amused grin on Steve's face as he eased his finger inside, just up to the knuckle, and he leaned over again to suck the head of Tony's cock, slowly easing his finger all the way inside as he took Tony in to the back of his throat. Tony tried not to buck but he did arch forward off of the bed languidly, his cock leaking copiously into Steve's mouth, and the moan that it elicited vibrated through Tony's entire body.

Steve took in more, bobbing his head faster this time, making Tony arch backward now, his head pressed into the pillow and his knees almost to his elbows as he spread for Steve, who had two fingers in him now, moving them faster now as Tony opened up for him. He replaced his mouth with his free hand and began to jerk Tony off, making the man yell out, and he brought his mouth to Tony's ass again, licking all around and eventually easing his tongue inside as his hand wrapped around the head of Tony's cock, twisting roughly.

Tony felt his stomach tighten, drop, and then snap, and suddenly he was coming all over himself, watching as Steve's hand pulled thick ropes of it out of him, each one landing in a garish stripe right up his stomach. Steve took his mouth away and sat up, his hand still squeezing lightly, making Tony shudder violently. He felt Steve's other hand at his entrance again, fingers easing in easily now, and he could see Steve's face – red and ragged, his expression hungry and almost a bit wild.

“Please, Tony,” Steve whispered, watching as he fingered Tony's ass, his face pleading. “God, I want you so fucking bad.” When their eyes met Tony had to squeeze his own shut – it was too much, _too much_. “Please, let me -”

“You can have me,” Tony breathed, and he was groping for Steve now, pulling him closer, and he reached down to the floor and produced a bottle of lube. “I'm all yours,” he said as he squeezed a small amount into his hand and wrapped it around Steve's cock, making the blush crawl from his face and travel all the way down his chest. Tony jerked Steve off for a moment, just marveling at the way he swooned and sighed above him, and he stopped when Steve shuddered and pulled away gently, his cock leaking a long stream of precome as he took Tony's thighs in his shaky hands and knelt before him, pulling Tony's hips up and onto his lap.

He slid the tip of his cock along Tony's spit-slick hole before easing the head inside, watching Tony carefully as he inched forward, a silent acknowledgment of how long it had been for both of them. Tony's ass finally met Steve's hips and they both let out sighs that were almost sounds of relief, and Steve blinked sharply. “Jesus, Tony...” He moved back slightly and breathed sharply as he slid back forward, the smallest of movements. “ _Fuck_ , that's tight...how long...”

Steve began to move, gently at first, and Tony thought for a second – Troy the Fourth on the couch, Troy the Sixth in the stairwell, countless boys against trees and walls...he always fucked them. They never fucked him. He never said yes to that, even when they'd beg him. He wasn't sure why at the time. Just didn't seem right to him – he couldn't imagine it, letting one of them fuck him. Tony wanted to laugh at the thought, but maybe he had been saving part of himself, letting just one thing stay untouched, keeping it precious for the day that he could share it with someone who deserved it, who wanted him in the right way, too.

“You were the last one,” Tony said, and Steve looked at him quizzically, his forehead wrinkling. “Wouldn't let those boys fuck me.” Steve's forehead smoothed and his hands spread along Tony's thighs, their grip tightening as he began to thrust at him carefully, slowly at first. “Never?” Steve asked and Tony shook his head, reached out to hold Steve's hips, coaxing him to move faster as Tony's body relaxed around him and let him in. Tony's moan was breathy and light, his whole body starting to thrum with the feeling of Steve finally inside of him again. Steve pressed one hand into the mattress and leaned down over Tony, his pace picking up as he mumbled low beneath his breath, most of his words too low for Tony to hear.

“No one else,” Steve breathed and Tony moaned, keening up towards Steve's lips as his cock began to throb again between them. Steve's eyes were focused and sharp and the bed was starting to rock with the motion of his hips, his body seemingly spurred on by what Tony was telling him. “Please...say it again,” Steve whispered, his lips only a few maddening centimeters from Tony's. “Tell me, Tony.”

“I'm yours,” Tony responded immediately, and he yelped at the feeling of Steve seating himself deep inside of him, hips pressed hard against his ass with Steve quite purposely brushing the thick head of his cock against a spot deep inside of Tony. “ _God_ , Steve...no one else.”

And now Steve was fucking him like that, and Tony spread his legs impossibly wider to accommodate Steve between them. Tony's cock was rock hard again and red on his belly, and he was surprised by the satisfaction he got from giving himself over to this, to Steve...he opened his eyes and saw Steve's red face peppered with a sweet smile, the _aw-shucks_ grin that he didn't show many people anymore. Steve's pace was quick and eager but not brutal, _never_ brutal, as he pistoned between Tony's legs, and sweat began to mist his blushed body almost immediately.

Steve wrapped a large hand around Tony's cock and the sensation made him gasp, throwing his head back into the pillow, and above him Steve was just watching, his eyes widened a bit as if in wonder of Tony. “I want to see your face,” Steve said, and finally he dipped his head down to press a soft kiss onto Tony's lips. “Come for me.”

And with that Steve dug his hips in and swiveled them slightly, not much, but that was all it took when coupled with the pressure of his hand tight around the slick head of Tony's cock, and Tony cursed against Steve's lips as his vision went gray and his eyes rolled in his head. He didn't have much to shoot but his entire body was alive with his orgasm, every atom awake and vibrating with the gorgeous fullness of Steve inside of him, still fucking him through it, still watching him as if this moment – as if _Tony_ were something precious to behold.

“Christ, you're gorgeous,” Steve whispered, getting winded now as he let go of Tony's cock and brought his hand down to Tony's hip, holding him up off of the bed as he fucked into him. “A beautiful thing...” Tony shut his eyes and moaned weakly – who just _says_ that? It was almost too much for him to hear or believe. Steve was trembling a bit as he let go of Tony's hips and let him fall down against the bed, and he stretched out on top of him, holding Tony's legs back with two gentle hands as he eased inside of him again. Steve groaned as he found his pace again and Tony shut his eyes, his head giddy from the smell of Steve's sweat and the aftershocks of his second orgasm. He could feel Steve's cock pulsing inside of him, probably leaking like a fucking faucet, too, and that was all he wanted now – Steve's come in him, his smell on him and his fingers bruised into his skin, something to show the world that Tony was all his.

Tony eased a lubed finger between Steve's ass cheeks to rub gently at his entrance, and the hands on his thighs tightened. He eased his fingertip in and Steve's moan climbed an octave and he dug his knees into the mattress, his fingers flexing into Tony's thighs as he pounded his cock into him.

“ _F-f-fuck_ ,” Steve whimpered, his eyes shut tightly, hips thrusting beyond his control and his hands pressing Tony's knees back into the mattress now. “I-I'm sorry, I can't-”

“Don't stop,” Tony groaned, his lips hot on Steve's ear as he slipped his finger in further, curling it gently, and that was it – Tony's bedframe slammed hard into the wall as Steve came inside of him, his eyes open now, pupils blown wide and his face red and raw. His hips snapped and he slumped onto Tony, still coming, one large hand trembling on Tony's face, his exhausted moans muffled into Tony's shoulder.

He released Tony's other leg and the man sighed gratefully, stretching out beneath Steve and just breathing for a long moment. Steve's skin was hot, baby-smooth to his touch and slick with sweat, and Tony was burning up, too, but he didn't want Steve to roll off of him just yet. Finally Steve turned to face Tony, and he leaned forward to press a lazy kiss onto his lips.

“I mean it, Tony,” he said, still breathless. “I don't share.”

 

* * *

 

Steve would often lay a hand on Tony. Touch his waist, his shoulder, or slyly let an arm drift behind him if they were side-by-side against a bar or a countertop. He touched Tony like he thought he might disappear, like it would all end so soon – like their first shot at all this. Right when things were getting good. And his touch had a weight to it, a purpose that was unspoken but they both understood what it meant ( _I've got you_ ). Steve worried that Tony was turned off by his clinging but that clearly wasn't the case – Tony always leaned into his touch, and he always tucked himself into Steve when they sat together, almost underneath him at times. “Gimme shelter,” Tony would mumble and Steve would grin, missing the Stones reference but _not_ missing the meaning at all. And Steve was happy to give all the shelter Tony needed.

And now Steve could love Tony out loud, and that was new. He hadn't even noticed how a year ago he was playing along, sneaking around and humoring the inherent shame at violating SHIELD protocol – being involved with a teammate, and his own nervousness towards being in his first relationship with an old friend's son. But now there was no affair and no shame, and he could kiss Tony in front of the team and in front of Pepper and it thrilled him in a way that he never really talked about with anyone, not even Tony. Sometimes Steve had to remind himself that this was real, it wasn't a fling, it was just him and Tony now and they were doing this the right way.

 

Bruce moved to southern California. He told SHIELD it was so he could work with west coast SI, but everyone else knew the truth as soon as he settled down in Calabasas, thirty-five minutes from Malibu. Steve and Tony went to visit Rhodey and Bruce, watched them move around each other so comfortably and effortlessly, as if it had been a decade for them and not just a year. And yeah, it was their anniversary. One year together. It was enough to make Steve jealous. Tony gave them his Fisker and even offered them the Aston Martin, but they both just thought that was too much. Especially after he gave them an equally nice but much less-conspicuous car, a Chrysler 300 – “Perfect for cross-country drives,” he mentioned with a wink. Steve wasn't one for such grand displays, so he just made cinnamon rolls and coffee cake and egg nog, even though it was summer time again, but no one complained because it was delicious.

“Better than Christmas,” Tony said, dipping his coffee cake into his drink. “I mean what'd you put in here – oranges or something? Fucking _gold_? Jeez, it's like you make everything better. You improve things that were already great.”

“Thanks,” Steve said around his cinnamon roll, and everyone laughed instead of noticing his blush.

 

They spent the night at Bruce and Rhodey's, and the next day they drove through the canyons to Malibu, up to where Tony's ridiculously overdone mansion used to sit. Now it was just white stone rubble and busted up concrete with flowers and plants growing up between the rocks, some of the bushes as tall as Steve. Tony wasn't saying anything – he was just walking around and kicking at the stones, hands in his pockets, and Steve followed quietly. They walked to where Tony's living room used to look out over the water, where he'd been standing when Steve watched a missile fly through his house. Steve let out a long sigh, the memory only just upsetting now and no longer soul-crushing because Tony was there and standing right beside him, and he put a hand on Tony's shoulder to pull him closer.

“I like your place,” Steve said. Tony laughed big and bright, his eyes crinkling as he looked at Steve. He clapped his hands joyfully and that made Steve laugh, too, and Tony just shook his head.

“Thanks,” Tony said, his laughter finally subsiding. “It was pretty gaudy – a Frank Lloyd Wright rip-off times a million. It was home, though. For a long time, too.”

“Bruce and Rhodey are making a home,” Steve said. “It's nice. It seems so easy for them, you know? It just works.”

“Lucky ducks,” Tony said lightly, “but _we_ didn't do so bad, did we?” Tony looked up at Steve with bright eyes, none of the darkness present from back when they got out of the car. “We made it, huh? I mean it was tough, but we're – this is...” and Tony just took Steve's hand. “You saved me before I was able to hit bottom – and I know what you're gonna say. I saved myself a bit too, and yeah, the others helped, but you pulled me out when I needed it, you told me the shit I needed to hear, and you were just _so fucking nice_ to me. You washed my hands and you helped me sleep. You rounded everybody else up and you just...” Tony leaned over to wrap his arms around Steve, still looking out over the ocean. “It could have gone so much worse. It could have ended _terribly_ , but it didn't. And now I've got my friends back – my _life_ back, and I've got you, too.”

Tony angled his head up and Steve met him in a kiss, their skin starting to heat up in the California sun. “I'm yours, you're mine,” Tony mumbled, and now it was Steve's turn to laugh, a joyful noise, right into Tony's mouth before pulling away slightly and just gazing up at the sky, bright blue up above them, seagulls circling overhead.

“Yes, I am,” Steve said. “And yeah – well, talk about 'starting things out on the wrong foot,' but yeah. We made it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The author's message to the scorned:** If you let a person walk all over you, they will never stop and others will pick up on this about you and abuse you as well. Stand up for yourself, give haters the muthafuckin' BUSINESS, do not be ashamed of your hurt or your pain, and make your transgressors earn your forgiveness. It is not a thing to be doled out willy-nilly just so you can be the 'better person,' because guess what? You're not. You're just a pushover who got cheated on. Make them earn your forgiveness and your friendship, because _you are worth it_.
> 
> And okay okay okay so I tried to avoid the Magic Healing Cock trope, but I think I pretty much failed at that. I mean anyone reading this could tell that they were gonna end up together in the end, right? So the sex shouldn't come as a surprise. I just didn't want it to seem that since Tony's back with Steve that his life is perfect. Oh goodness, I'm just a little bristly over the way I chose to end this, but this was the most in-character and logical conclusion that could be made of this story. I agree that MHC is a tacky trope, but sometimes it's not a lie. Sometimes love really is all you need. I don't think this could have ended any other way.


End file.
